


Caged Animals

by BlondeQ



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 201,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlondeQ/pseuds/BlondeQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-S4E09. With Shaw hidden in the subway station, Root finds herself in an interesting position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work explores what could happen if Shaw has to stay in the subway station, and Root were to find herself becoming more and more involved. Spoilers up through the latest episode - The Devil You Know.
> 
> Chapter 1 is T-rated, but it's going to escalate to at least an M by Chapter 3.

Root waited two days after she sank the syringe into Shaw’s neck before going back to the subway station.

She knew that Shaw was going to be angry with her, and she hoped that giving her a little time to cool off might help. On the other hand, she knew it was possible (probable, really) that Shaw would spend that time getting herself more and more pissed.

Root had promised herself that she would stay away for a full forty eight hours. Forty seven hours and fifty six minutes after she left Shaw on the cot with Harold looking over her, Root was back at the entrance to the subway station. She thought about slipping inside now, but she liked the idea of the exact forty eight hours, so Root passed the entrance by, head down, hood up.

Her mouth twitched a tiny bit into a smile when she remembered the way that the needle, clutched in her tight fist, pierced through Shaw’s skin so smoothly. The bullseye that was the soft area just behind the tendons in Shaw’s neck meant that when Shaw flinched, it only drove the needle deeper. And when Shaw’s hand gripped Root’s, her tight fist covering tight fist, Root knew that Shaw was too late, the plunger had already been pressed and Shaw was going to drop momentarily. No matter how good of an assassin you were, when you were hit with that much tranquilizer, you were going down. Root had let Shaw jerk her hand away.

Then Shaw turned with that scalding glare, her lips pulling back from her teeth as she snarled and that iron hand was immediately at Root’s throat, fingers closing around Root’s windpipe… Root couldn’t deny that the jolt of electricity that shot through her body was a pleasurable one. Her lips had parted and yes, she was smiling just the tiniest amount, and yes, she relished running her hand over Shaw’s forearm to her wrist, gently pressing that iron grip closer to her.

There was no smile on Shaw’s face. When she growled “I will _end_ you” there was only fury. And looking back on it, that made Root’s stomach tighten anxiously. But Root also knew that it had been her only choice. She couldn’t let Shaw enter the fray- it was too risky. Shaw could have exposed all of them. Or gotten herself hurt. At any rate, Root didn’t hesitate to squeeze in one last line of innuendo before Shaw’s eyes started to un-focus and roll back into her head. Root had a tight enough grip on the shorter woman that she simply lowered them both to the ground, crouching and pulling Shaw towards herself when her head lolled back.

It wasn’t until Root had started to gather Shaw into her arms that she noticed the gun that was still loosely held in her unconscious hand. So sure, Shaw was pissed and had threatened Root’s life, but even with the training and the instincts that told her to always be ready to shoot, Shaw had no so much as pointed the gun in Root’s direction. And that counted for something. Root hoped.

John was still busy with Elias when Harold pulled up to the curb outside the chain link fence and called to ask Root why she’d asked him to come. Root opened the gate in the fence, Shaw slung over her shoulder in a fireman carry. The look on Harold’s face, his eyebrows three fourths of the way up his forehead, was priceless. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Don’t worry, Harold, I just needed to keep Shaw from getting herself into trouble,” Root told him, smiling as she tried to keep her breathing steady through the exertion of carrying Shaw. Harold half-heartedly tried to help, but realized quickly that the best he could do was open the car door’s back seat for Root to lay Shaw across it. Root thought she probably could have found a car herself, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving Shaw alone, even for the amount of time it would take to break into a car and re-enter the building.

When they got back to the subway station Root had hoisted Shaw up again onto her shoulder, wincing because the gunshot wounds in her other shoulder were still a little tender sometimes. She’d almost dropped Shaw, but one hand firmly planted on Shaw’s rear end kept her steady. Root immediately thought of how Shaw would have reacted had she seen how firmly Root had a hold of her.

Bear had been up and whining as soon as he saw Shaw and Root enter the room, and she figured that was her cue to leave. She’d laid Shaw down, looked over at Harold, his pursed lips and buggy eyes, and gave him a sly smile, her head tilting to one side.

“Take care of her for me?” Root asked.

“I think I’d better, Miss Groves. She’s not going to want to see you any time soon. If I were you, I’d give her a few days,” Harold said. Root’s eyebrows and mouth twitched, a minute expression of concern blinking onto her face and then disappearing. Finch’s owl eyes did not miss this. “She’ll be here. And maybe by then she’ll be glad for the distraction from her, shall we say, confinement.”

Root had listened to the precision of Finch’s words, the clipped consonants and perfectly shaped vowels, and knew he was right. So yes, it was two days later now, which qualified as ‘a few’ in Root’s book, and she was checking the time again. As soon as her mental timer hit forty eight hours from the moment she had looked away from Shaw’s limp body, Root hurried down the steps into the subway station, brushing the hood back from her face as she went.

As Root stepped off the final stair, she heard quiet grunting. She curiously walked along beside the subway car, glancing in and seeing no one, until she came to the end of the platform and spotted Shaw doing push-ups. Root smirked as she approached Shaw from behind. Bear came trotting up to Root, ears up on high alert, before she could say anything. She had to admit she was disappointed- she liked to surprise Shaw.

“I’m glad to see you’re staying fit for me,” Root said. Shaw grunted a few more times, on the upward motion of each push-up, then finally stopped, letting her body relax from the rigid plank position. She jumped up and swiped one arm over her forehead, damp with sweat, and stepped towards Root, eyes dark with anger. Root’s smirk deepened as Shaw continued on her trajectory until they were so close they were almost touching. Shaw looked just as furious as she had in those moments before she collapsed, the muscle above her lip on one side pulling into a little snarl. It almost kept Root from teasing her more. Almost.

“Are you going to end me now?” Root asked coyly, making her eyes as big and dark as she could. Shaw glared up into Root’s eyes, still breathing heavily, then pushed past her, intentionally checking Root’s shoulder- the one that had been shot recently. It didn’t hurt all that much anymore, but carrying Shaw the other day hadn’t helped at all. Root rolled it gently as Shaw started running to the other end of the platform. Just as Root wondered if she should chase after Shaw and stop her from going up to the street, she noticed that Shaw wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks. Root doubted the shorter woman would go sprinting up on the streets of New York with her feet completely bare. At the end of the platform, Shaw stopped, reached down with one hand to tap the ground, then turned and immediately ran, fast, back towards Root.

Root stepped aside, out of Shaw’s path.

“I did it to keep you safe,” Root said as Shaw raced past her. Shaw slows to a stop and then turns back to face Root with venom in her eyes.

“I didn’t _ask_ you to keep me safe,” Shaw growled.

“That’s the point,” Root said, looking down at Shaw and wishing she didn’t sound quite so worried. “You don’t _have_ to ask. When people care about you, they do these things without needing to be _told_.”

Shaw turned back away, her hands on her hips, her breathing still a little fast. The edges of the sweat pattern on Shaw’s black tank top caught Root’s eye, and she wondered how long Shaw had been running around. The subway station was very quiet for a minute while Shaw slowly walked across the concrete.

“Do you know how to build things?” Shaw asked the question without turning around. Root’s eyebrows raised.

“I can do almost anything with Her help,” Root replied, returning to her usual smooth delivery. The microscopic shake of Shaw’s head was still enough to cue Root to the fact that Shaw was unimpressed as she continued to slowly walk away. “What do you want to build?”

“I told Finch that I couldn’t live here without a place to shower,” Shaw said, and her frustration was clear, “So he brought all this stuff to put one in the bathroom.”

Shaw had reached a door in the wall and pushed it open. Root followed her and looked at the pile of equipment and then up at Shaw, who had stepped over the pipes and fittings and was now standing on the other side of the pile.

“Is there a-” Root started, but Shaw cut her off.

“Drain? Yeah. But there’s not a pipe in the wall to connect it to. He wanted me to try to connect it to the sink.”

Root tilted her head to the side skeptically, then crouched to sort through the pipes. Shaw sat down on the toilet lid to watch. Even when Root fumbled a little to pick up certain pieces, Shaw made no move to assist her.

And then after a while, Shaw had left Root alone in the bathroom. Root could tell that Shaw was getting impatient, but it wasn’t as simple as connecting two pipes and being done. There was a tankless water heater to figure out, and the finagling of the different pieces to split the sink’s water would never work as well as Root would have liked. She worked for a long while in silence, listening to the soft slap of bare footsteps back and forth on the concrete platform.

Root wished she’d known she would be doing this sort of work- luckily she’d worn a low-cut t-shirt under her black leather jacket, but the heeled boots and tight black jeans weren’t exactly practical for this sort of labor.

“You’re making progress,” Shaw’s voice said. The hair on the back of Root’s neck stood on end at the surprise of Shaw being right behind her, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. Root looked over her shoulder, pointedly not giving Shaw the satisfaction of knowing she’d managed to approach unnoticed. It was only because she wasn’t wearing shoes, Root assured herself.

“It might go faster if I had some help,” Root told her, looking up at her from under her lashes.

Shaw’s lips twitched with the tiniest hint of a smile before they pursed in irritation.

“I might help if I didn’t feel like I was building my own prison,” Shaw said. Root turned back to the task at hand, not acknowledging Shaw’s reply because she was right, really.

The installation of the shower meant that Shaw didn’t really have an excuse to leave. They could bring her food, clothes, even build a gym if they really wanted to, but aside from a half-assed sponge bath from the sink, there wasn’t a way for Shaw to get clean. At least being able to shower would bring a sort of normalcy.

Being able to wash off the sweat and blood and the smell of explosives from her body helped Root feel human. The _production_ of those three things kept Root feeling _alive_ , but that wasn’t the same thing. Root thought about Shaw’s bare feet racing back and forth across the subway platform and knew the shorter woman probably felt the same way. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw that Shaw’s feet were still bare.

“Your feet are going to get cold,” Root told her.

“Yeah, well I’m not going to run suicides in my boots. I’m not exactly flush with cash thanks to my delightful job at the makeup counter, and they aren’t cheap. Plus I’d probably break an ankle or something,” Shaw replied, her eyes staring fixedly at the tiles on the wall, not even looking Root in the eye. Root picked up a wrench, testing the weight in one hand as she thought about what needed to be connected next.


	2. Chapter 2

Root was surprised when, the next day, she was already heading back to the subway station.

The surprise was because the Machine had been giving her more instructions lately, and a part of her had thought that maybe she was being kept busy so she wouldn’t get distracted by Shaw. It wasn’t completely unreasonable- what sort of God wanted a prophet who was busy flirting?

But today the Machine had made a point of directing Root to Shaw’s now-vacant apartment. At first, Root thought it was a coincidence that she was heading to the same street address that she’d long-since figured out belonged to Shaw’s cover identity. But she quickly saw that she was wrong in assuming it was coincidence. Root felt a little stupid for having thought it could be. When was it _ever_ coincidence with Her?

It had only taken Root a few minutes to get inside Shaw’s building, and a couple more to find the apartment and break in. She stood in the open doorway for a beat, waiting for further instructions.

She gave the apartment a thorough sweep for weapons- in case someone got suspicious that Shaw hadn’t been around or paid her rent, it was better to not have guns and knives stashed all over. That made sense.

Then Root was guided into the bedroom and under the bed to find an empty duffle bag. The last instruction made Root smile. She was there to gather clothes for Shaw.

She opened Shaw’s dresser drawers and closet door and was surprised that everything was very neat. Root ran her hands over the clothes on the hangers in Shaw’s closet, examining different items as she came to them.

When the Machine reminded her that she needed to hurry, Root felt like she was being scolded.

She didn’t love it.

But she _did_ love the excuse to pick exactly which items of clothing Shaw would be wearing while she was confined to the subway station. She pulled a couple pairs of pants, a few shirts, a leather jacket, a hooded sweatshirt, one of the revealing little black dresses Shaw had been wearing lately, running shoes, exercise clothes, socks… then she came to the most fun part.

Underwear.

Sports bras? Sure. Necessary if Shaw was going to keep acting like a mountain lion at the zoo.

As Root could have predicted, Shaw’s underwear drawer was mostly black. Some were surprisingly lacy and feminine items, all of which Root put into the duffle bag with a smirk on her face because she knew Shaw would immediately see that Root had done it intentionally. But even sexier were the black boy-short cut underwear, the smooth, simple black bras that Root could so easily picture Shaw wearing around her apartment when she was alone. There would probably be a glass beer bottle in one hand, a pistol in the other, resting against Shaw’s smooth bare thigh while she lounged on the couch to watch television.

Root licked the back of her teeth as she thought of that mental image and shoved those items into the bag as well. Then she was off, back towards the subway station. She idly thought to herself when she was about a block away that she needed to give the heavy lifting a rest or her shoulder would never heal.

Her phone started to ring in her pocket, and Root answered quickly, without looking at who had called. It wasn’t like she needed to; the Machine had already whispered in her ear.

“Hello, Harold,” Root said into the receiver.

“Hello Ms. Groves. I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything for a friend,” she replied, letting the words sound much more sarcastic than necessary.

“I believe that Ms. Shaw is getting _restless_ ,” Finch let the word ‘restless’ hold weight and sit for a second before continuing, “so if you could perhaps bring some of her things to her-”

“Somebody else already sent me to do the same thing,” Root interrupted. She could tell Finch was surprised.

“The Machine?” He asked.

“She’s doing Her best to keep us all safe. And right now, that means keeping Shaw undercover,” Root replied to Finch as she headed down the steps into their secret lair. Root hung up the phone as she rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, approaching the subway car where Finch was sitting at the computer. Finch turned at the sound of her shoes clicking on the floor and looked even more surprised than he’d sounded on the phone.

“That was fast,” he said. Root just smiled and turned to see Reese and Shaw staring one another down.


	3. Chapter 3

“She’s doing Her best to keep us all safe. And right now, that means keeping Shaw undercover,” Root replied to Finch as she headed down the steps into their secret lair. Root hung up the phone as she rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, approaching the subway car where Finch was sitting at the computer. Finch turned at the sound of her shoes clicking on the floor and looked even more surprised than he’d sounded on the phone.

“That was fast,” he said. Root just smiled and turned to see Reese and Shaw staring one another down.

It was obvious that the Machine had hurried Root because the threat of Shaw leaving was imminent. Reese looked like he was ready to grab Shaw if she tried to edge her way past him towards the stairs. Shaw’s eyes flickered over to Root and the look she received was so venomous that even from a few yards away, Root’s stomach tightened, an unconscious response because Shaw was dangerous.

“She wants to _help_ ,” Finch said, “and I keep telling her that she can’t.”

“I have to leave- Lionel isn’t going to be able to cover for me all day,” Reese said over his shoulder, his expression pained.

“And there’s a new number that I need to check up on,” Finch continued, sharing Reese’s irritation. Root let the duffle bag drop to the floor.

“We’ll have a little girl time then,” Root said, smiling over at Shaw as suggestively as she could manage. “We can play dress up if you want.”

Shaw turned from Reese when she saw how outnumbered she was and started to pace away, putting her hands on her head in frustration. Finch watched Shaw for a few seconds, then looked back to Reese. Without another word, Harold started to limp towards the stairwell. Reese followed, but stopped beside Root, turning his head just enough to speak to her quietly.

“She’s going to try to run. You can’t let her,” he said, his voice like gravel. Root smirked up at him.

“Have a good day at work, Detective.”

With that, John and Harold both headed up the stairs. Shaw was facing the wall of the subway station with her arms still above her head, her hands in her hair. The form-fitting tank top was riding up around Shaw’s waist, and Root gave the shorter woman’s exposed lower back an appraising look as Bear trotted to Shaw’s side, circling her anxiously.

“Don’t you want to see what I brought you?” Root asked, testing the water. Shaw turned and looked at Root for a second before stalking back across the room. Root watched the angry approach with a little smile on her face. Root nodded her head at the duffle bag on the floor and Shaw bent to pick it up.

“What are you looking at?” Shaw growled up at Root. Then she hoisted the bag up and turned away without another word, walking towards the cot. Root followed leisurely a few feet behind, and when Shaw put the bag on the mattress, Root couldn’t see it but heard the zipper pull.

“You broke into my apartment,” Shaw said, “ _Again_.”

“I thought you might like some creature comforts,” Root replied.

“Did you touch my guns?” Shaw asked, rounding on Root. Root just smiled, and Shaw’s eyebrows shot up in annoyance. “Did you take them?”

“I couldn’t leave them for your landlord to find in case someone noticed you were missing,” Root told her. Shaw’s eyes narrowed, but she left that alone, turning back to the bag. She started to pull out clothes and saw that there was a layer of lacy underwear on top.

“ _This_ is supposed to make me feel better?” Shaw asked, and even before she turned around, Root could tell that her jaw was clenched tight.

“I picked my favorites,” Root said flirtatiously, looking pointedly at the lacy bra in Shaw’s hand.

Shaw’s hand clenched tighter on the bra, then she shoved everything back into the bag. Root looked up at the ceiling, her mouth still curling into a smirk.

“I’ve already seen it all, there’s no reason to hide it,” Root said.

Shaw didn’t acknowledge this comment, zipping the bag up roughly and leaving it on the bed before she turned, standing with her hands clenched into fists at her sides, eyeing the stairs. 

“You’re not leaving,” Root told her apologetically. There was no reply; the shorter woman simply started to stalk back and forth along the platform. Root leaned against the wall, watching her.

After a bit, Root’s phone started to ring.

“I just wanted to confirm that Ms. Shaw is still there,” Harold said on the other end of the line.

“She sure is, Harry.”

“Good. Mr. Reese is going to meet me here at the new number’s apartment. It’s not proving to be particularly complicated so we should be back in a few hours at most. Can you stay there with her until then?”

“My pleasure,” Root said, ending the call. “They’re both fine and safe. You don’t need to worry about them.”

“I’m not worried about them,” Shaw said as she turned and started to pace back towards Root. Root pushed herself from her position against the wall and walked towards Shaw, meeting her in the middle of the platform.

“It’s ok to be worried,” Root said. “That’s what’s got you so desperate to get out of here, right?”

“I want to leave because I want to be in my own place. With a drink, and my guns. I don’t want to be here, being watched all the time,” Shaw said. Root looked sympathetically down at the shorter woman.

“If you weren’t trying to run off, we wouldn’t be babysitting you,” Root replied. Shaw’s eyes narrowed in frustration, and then her face shifted. It was clear in that moment that Root was about to get a piece of the truth that Shaw felt embarrassed to reveal. Root’s eyebrows raised, wide dark eyes meeting wide dark eyes.

“I’m bored,” Shaw said through clenched teeth, flinching a little as the words left her mouth. She clearly felt bad that this was why she was being such a pain- she knew this wasn’t a good reason to cause trouble. Root’s eyes strayed to Shaw’s mouth for a second, the pursed lips.

“If you wanted to be entertained, all you had to do was ask,” Root said, smirking coyly as she stepped towards Shaw, putting a hand on each of the shorter woman’s upper arms.

There was a flare of anger in Shaw’s expression, and for a split second Root thought she may have miscalculated.

She hadn’t.

Shaw grabbed a handful of Root’s jacket in both of her fists and pulled the taller woman against herself, kissing her hard. Root’s lips were crushed against her teeth, and her hands tightened on Shaw’s firm biceps. Just as Root was about to open her mouth to deepen the kiss, Shaw pulled away.

To Root’s surprise, under all of the layers of Shaw’s anger there was a look like she was asking for permission. That was not the attitude Root had expected from someone who seemed keen on shooting first and asking questions later.

One of Root’s hands shifted up to the nape of Shaw’s neck, giving her a sly smile as she gently pressed against the base of Shaw’s skull, her fingers entwined in Shaw’s hair, urging Shaw to move their lips together again. That was all of the permission Shaw needed. Her hands were still grabbing tightly to Root’s jacket, and she pulled their bodies together again, this time letting the kiss last.

It was another hard kiss, their teeth clashing once, Root’s tongue barely entering Shaw’s mouth before the shorter woman reacted like they were fighting.

Root’s fingers curled in Shaw’s hair, pulling when Shaw’s teeth bit Root’s lower lip, hard enough to make Root inhale harshly through her nose and jerk away in pain. Root gently licked at her lip, checking for blood. There wasn’t any.

Shaw didn’t look the least bit remorseful as she watched Root’s mouth. Her eyes focused hard on the pink of Root’s tongue against the dark red of her inflamed lip. She wasn’t sorry, but she _was_ waiting until Root was done checking her throbbing lip.

Her eyes looked dark, darker than usual if that were possible. Root felt her stomach tighten as she looked at the shorter woman, and the thought flicked through her mind that this might be a ploy to distract Root long enough to run away. The Machine _had_ sent her here to keep Shaw stationary.

Root’s gaze turned commanding at the idea. If that were the case, she would play Shaw’s game, but she would not let Shaw win.

It was Root that connected with Shaw’s lips this time, her hand still in Shaw’s hair. But Shaw was not willing to let Root take control of the situation. She was angry, more than angry, and she wanted things done _her_ way.

There was a tugging on Root’s jacket again, and she could tell that Shaw was blindly tearing at the buttons. Root let go of Shaw and tried to brush her hands away to undo the coat herself. She liked that coat and didn’t want it destroyed by Shaw’s frenetic hands.

But Shaw hit Root’s hands away, grabbing onto one of Root’s wrists and continuing to unbutton with the other. Root felt herself being pushed backwards as the coat gave way. Shaw released Root’s wrist, her mouth still on Root’s, the coat pushed down Root’s arms until they were trapped in the sleeves, Shaw’s hands holding the coat tight around Root’s waist, almost like a straight jacket.

Root ducked back from Shaw, looking into her eyes and seeing the dark fury and something else. Desperation, maybe? Or longing? The slight look of confusion Root responded with must have cued Shaw to the fact that Root was trying to figure out what was going on in her head, because Root then watched Shaw try to rearrange her expression into just anger again. It didn’t really work, and that made Root smile a little. Shaw shoved angrily against Root again, making her walk backwards. Root tried to move her arms, testing Shaw’s resolve to see how much Root would need to push back to gain control if she needed to.

Root was perplexed when Shaw’s face twitched into a smile and she tugged Root’s arms tighter in the sleeves of the jacket, looking up at her sternly. Shaw pushed her again, harder this time, and Root had to quickly put a foot back to keep from falling. Instead of catching herself like she’d expected to, Root’s leg hit something low, and she lost her balance. Her arms, still stuck in the sleeves, tried to jerk out behind her, but there was nothing she could do.

When she hit the mattress, her legs bent over the duffle bag, Root exhaled shakily. The wind had been knocked out of her, and the fall had been alarming. Shaw shoved the duffle out from underneath Root and let it drop to the ground beside the low cot.

Before Shaw was on her again, Root struggled out of her coat and dropped that on the floor as well.

Shaw looked predatory, shoulders tight as she stood over Root, lying prone on the bed. When Root started to sit up, Shaw reached down and put a firm hand on her sternum, fingers pressing into the base of Root’s throat. Then she slung one leg over Root’s hips and sat on the taller woman’s pelvis.

She had located herself with intention. When Root tried to lift her legs from the bed, Shaw hooked her feet on top of Root’s thighs, keeping them flat against the bed and slightly spread. Root let herself be pushed into the mattress, flat on her back. She felt another pang of fear as she realized how vulnerable she was. The smirk on Shaw’s face said she knew it too.

The hand on Root’s sternum slid upwards, the fingers that had been pressed into her collar bone moving up, digging into her throat painfully. Shaw leaned over Root so their faces were almost touching.

“I _told_ you,” Shaw growled, pausing when she felt Root’s throat bob as she tried to swallow her fear. Shaw’s eyes flicked down to her hand on Root’s throat, giving her fingers a tentative squeeze, then back to Root’s eyes. Root’s stomach flipped when their eyes met, Shaw’s black as night. “I will _end_ you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! THIS CHAPTER IS E-RATED!  
> But don’t worry- if that’s not your thing, you can skip this chapter. I’ll be posting Chapter Five on Tuesday morning, and you’ll be able to fill in the blanks just fine without having to read any, ahem, “graphic depictions”. I’ve broken the chapters up this way intentionally, and I’ve left the rating at M because you can very easily avoid the racy material here and still appreciate the story. If consensus is that I should up the rating on the whole story, I’ll be happy to do that.
> 
> (I hope this doesn’t disappoint you, InuGhost…)

“I _told_ you,” Shaw growled, pausing when she felt Root’s throat bob as she tried to swallow her fear. Shaw’s eyes flicked down to her hand on Root’s throat, giving her fingers a tentative squeeze, then back to Root’s eyes. Root’s stomach flipped when their eyes met, Shaw’s black as night. “I will _end_ you.”

For a moment, Root felt panic, her fight or flight response telling her to get the fuck out from under this murderous woman. But She was quiet in Root’s ear, which she hoped meant that Shaw wouldn’t actually kill her. Root was surprised to feel her hands shaking when she reached up to grab Shaw’s hips.

And then Shaw’s mouth connected with Root’s again, her hand leaving Root’s windpipe, callused finger tips dragging roughly down to Root’s breastbone, the collar of her black t-shirt. Shaw sat back as her fingers curled under the edge of the shirt, stretching the fabric down until the heel of her hand was pushing uncomfortably hard into Root’s diaphragm.

Root tried to sit up but Shaw’s other hand roughly slammed Root’s still-healing shoulder into the mattress again. When Root winced despite her best efforts to smirk up at the dark-haired woman straddling her, Shaw didn’t seem to notice. Or she chose not to. Or pain was what she wanted. Root couldn’t tell.

Shaw let go of the collar of Root’s shirt and grabbed a fistful of the fabric at Root’s abdomen instead, letting up on the taller woman’s shoulder so she could pull the shirt off over her head. Root lifted up a little to help the demanding action, but when Shaw had tossed the shirt away and tried to shove her back, Root braced herself on one elbow defiantly. Reaching out to the front of Shaw’s tank top, her hand tightly fisted the stretchy material at Shaw’s waist, pulling it upward. For a moment, they looked at one another. There was an unspoken challenge. Then Shaw obliged Root’s insistent gaze, and started pulling her own tank top off over her head.

While she was maneuvering the material over her head, Root sat up, her hands on Shaw’s smooth, fit stomach, fingers following the cloth upwards, claiming each inch of newly exposed skin. Quickly, while the tank top was above Shaw’s head, Root’s adept fingers rounded Shaw’s ribcage and unhooked her bra, yanking it out of the way before Shaw could stop her.

The scathing look Shaw gave Root only made Root smirk in response, finger nails digging into the sides of Shaw’s ribcage as she let her eyes drift down, admiring Shaw’s bare torso. Shaw’s angry expression faltered and she inhaled unsteadily when Root leaned forward, her head almost level with Shaw’s chest because of Shaw’s position on top of the taller woman. Root gently kissed Shaw’s collar bone and her hands slid down to grab Shaw’s hips, rocking up against her. Denim on denim.

Root kissed down Shaw’s chest, feeling the firm pectoral muscles under her lips, then the soft breast tissue, finally the peaked nipple. She gave this one soft kiss, then put her warm mouth around it, her tongue circling it once before she bit with her teeth, hard enough that Shaw sucked in a breath, her legs tightening on either side of Root’s lap. The hands that found Root’s head were strong. They ran through her wavy brown hair, roughly digging into her scalp, pulling her closer. Root smirked against Shaw’s skin and bit her again, taking her time as she sucked. When she shifted to Shaw’s other nipple, she felt Shaw’s hot breath on her scalp, then Shaw’s parted lips pressed hard on the crown of Root’s head, her breathing shaky.

Interested in the mixed response, Root pulled back just enough to look up at Shaw. The pairing of hard fingers and soft open-mouthed kiss on her head was very _Shaw_ , never sure if their interactions were an attack or a show of affection. Shaw left her head bent forward, so that when Root tipped her head up she could feel Shaw’s exhales on her face, and Root admired how seamlessly anger and arousal could blend in Shaw’s features.

Root closed the short distance between their mouths, kissing Shaw, who ran her hands through Root’s hair again, pushing it out of the way and cupping the base of Root’s skull. Root rocked her hips against Shaw again and was rewarded with straight white teeth clamping down on her already tender lip. Root ran her hands up from Shaw’s hips to her chest, pinching Shaw’s nipples and gripping hard on her breasts.

Always an eye for an eye.

Their mouths disconnected when Shaw fumbled to undo Root’s bra, her racing fingers too unsteady to smoothly unhook the fabric at first. Then Root’s bra was discarded as well, and Root smiled when she released Shaw’s breasts and their skin finally brushed, her nipples barely touching Shaw’s skin before she was roughly pushed back against the mattress again.

Root’s breath hitched and quickened when Shaw bent over, her hair falling loose from the pony tail she always wore, tumbling over Root’s chest as she sank her teeth into the top of Root’s breast, scraping towards Root’s nipple, her tongue leaving a wet trail behind the harsh teeth. She sucked hard on Root’s nipple, and bit down so abruptly that Root grunted and bucked upwards, her hands on Shaw’s back, finger nails digging divots into Shaw’s shoulder blades.

Root bit down on her own lip to stifle the guttural noises she felt in her throat. She had never been a fan of overly noisy sex, but now more than ever she wanted to be quiet. Like part of the challenge with Shaw was to be the one less affected. She would be damned if she lost control of herself first. Shaw twisted Root’s nipple between two fingers as she moved to the other breast, repeating the harsh treatment of this sensitive flesh. Root felt her entire body tighten, her hips writhing under Shaw against her will.

The ruthless chuckle that Root felt more than heard when Shaw released her nipple only made Root’s heart rate increase even more. She reached for Shaw’s pants, clawing at the button, and Shaw lifted her head to bite the lobe of Root’s good ear.

“You need something?” Shaw asked, her voice hoarse with animosity. Root smirked with arousal at the sound, moving her hips to rub against Shaw. She felt Shaw’s hot exhale on her throat and she pressed her thumbs into Shaw’s inner thighs.

“Do you?” Root asked, rocking against Shaw again and giving the shorter woman’s throat a commanding bite simultaneously. Shaw arched into Root a little, and then after a moment’s hesitation, she sat up, scooting down Root’s body to unfasten her pants.

“Yes,” Shaw said, her face uncertainly shifting into a little aggressive smile. “I do.”

Root was taken aback as Shaw tugged the jeans and underwear down Root’s legs together, unzipping the black boots and dropping them with a clatter to the floor, then letting the jeans drop into a crumpled heap beside them. Shaw saw the questioning expression on Root’s face.

“Harold and John aren’t going to be gone all night,” Shaw said by way of explanation with that angry but smug expression on her face. And that face alone was enough to make Root want to tear the jeans off of her. Danger and sex. Root sat up and fumbled for Shaw’s pants again, not wanting to waste any time or to be the only one now completely naked. Shaw kicked her shoes off, struggled out of her tight-fitting denim, and Root barely had time to admire the boyish underwear hugging Shaw’s hips before it was discarded as well.

Root took in the dark hair between Shaw’s legs, smirking because she’d wondered before what Shaw’s _grooming_ habits were, and she’d been right when she figured that Shaw probably didn’t do much of anything. Root and Shaw shared the same ‘fuck you’ attitude about a lot of things, it seemed. Arranging the hair between their legs based on the ideals of some nebulous ‘they’ was one of these things. Shaw pressed one leg harshly between Root’s thighs, interrupting her thoughts.

She hadn’t realized just how aroused she was until that point. She was already wet, already more than ready to feel Shaw on her. In her. Shaw kissed Root, less aggressively now, more longing and careful, then their mouths separated and Shaw’s dark eyes met Root’s. Both of them were filled with anticipation, but their was something else in Shaw’s eyes that Root could see. Something like worry? Or grief?

Lips pressed hard kisses down Root’s throat, to her collar bone. There was an unyielding hand on Root’s bare thigh as Shaw shifted against her and Root barely suppressed a short groaning exhale. Shaw’s lips were on Root’s breasts, then her abdomen, her belly button, the dip beside her hip bone.

Shaw pulled Root forcefully to the edge of the bed and looked up the mattress at her, her lips slightly parted, the tiniest curve of a smile on her face when she sank a finger inside of Root. Root bit her swollen lower lip hard, propped up on her elbows to watch Shaw. Their eyes disconnected when Shaw kissed along the soft skin beside her jutting hip bone, to the edge of the dark hair between her legs. Shaw looked up at her once more, almost playful, and Root could already feel her body tightening on Shaw’s motionless finger.

This made Shaw smirk a little more before she looked down again. She pulled her finger out and then slowly slid it back in with a second finger as her mouth finally connected with Root’s clitoris, her tongue gently swirling around the little nerve center and Root couldn’t stop the tiniest of whimpers as she reached down for Shaw’s head. Shaw’s free hand caressed Root’s bare backside as she started to move her fingers inside of Root, her tongue still teasing the taller woman.

Root was surprised by how short a time it was before she was writhing under Shaw’s ministrations. Shaw’s fingernails dug into her hip, pinning Root into the mattress to keep her from bucking and displacing the teeth that were delicately closing on Root, followed by the soothing of an agile tongue. Root’s hands gripped the sheets tight in her fists, white-knuckled as she whimpered, her back arching up from the bed, her muscles clenching hard around the fingers that were curling inside of her, hitting her in the exact right spot just as Shaw’s teeth nipped, harder than before, sucking Root’s clitoris into her mouth aggressively.

“Sameen,” Root flushed as the name breathlessly fell from her mouth, unexpected, and she fell over the precipice of an orgasm, whimpering again, and then again, and a third time as Shaw’s fingers kept moving inside of her, hard thrusts, and Shaw’s mouth worked expertly until Root’s spasming muscles slowed and she quaked with each movement of Shaw’s tongue, overly sensitive.

The hand that reached out and covered Shaw’s on Root’s hip shook. Shaw understood the cue, relaxing her grip on Root’s hip under the shaking fingers, then removing her other hand from between Root’s legs. She wiped her face on the sheets and then gently kissed Root’s thigh before she got up and moved to lay on top of Root again.

Root’s arms wrapped around Shaw’s back, eyes closed. She became aware again that at any moment Shaw could be planning on making a run for it. Before she could open her eyes or tighten her grip to show that she was savvy to what was going on, Shaw’s lips softly found Root’s again, and she could taste herself in Shaw’s mouth.

Root kissed her back, noting that this was the opposite of what she’d expected to have happen next. Root’s rapid pulse slowed and she felt less shaky as the kiss deepened. Shaw’s tenderness was enough to reinvigorate Root. She wanted to taste Shaw and make her whimper more vulnerably than _she_ had. She opened her eyes as she sank her teeth into Shaw’s lip, then pushed Shaw over onto her back.

Shaw laid back, one leg bent casually, her foot planted on the mattress.

Root leaned over her and smiled at the firm expression on Shaw’s face. She knew that Shaw liked to have control and Root was looking forward to taking it away from her. Shaw’s mouth twitched into a little smile that was all anticipation, excitement to see what Root was going to do. She seemed in that moment like she had already decided to relinquish herself.

Root firmly pressed a leg between Shaw’s as she kissed her, worrying with her teeth at Shaw’s lower lip, pinching Shaw’s nipples between her fingers. She felt the smile on Shaw’s face even when she twisted the sensitive skin hard, as hard as she could. Shaw was pushing up into her, breathing shallow, and when Root looked deep into her eyes, she found that Shaw’s were glistening, bright and dark simultaneously, watering from pain as Root raked her fingernails down Shaw’s stomach. Shaw pressed her head back into the mattress and Root bit down hard on the exposed skin of Shaw’s neck.

Root was planning to tease Shaw, and let her hand intentionally pass by the patch of dark hair between Shaw’s legs in favor of brushing against her thigh. Shaw’s hands went to Root’s back, calluses pressed into her spine and her hips moved, needy.

She watched Shaw’s clenched jaw and the tendons in her throat that were pulling taut, standing out like they had the day Root had sunk the needle into her neck. The motivation to make this last as long as possible was immediately lost. Root hoped there would be time for that later.

Root pushed two fingers inside of Shaw’s already incredibly wet body, delighting in the little growl that escaped from Shaw’s parted lips. Root kissed Shaw, sucking her lip into her mouth, and Shaw’s finger nails scratched across Root’s back, sharp and careless. Root continued to thrust, Shaw’s leg wrapping around her to keep her so close she could barely move her hand.

Root sat back to get better leverage, and Shaw’s hands still groped at Root until her chest felt like it was on fire from the stinging nails. Shaw’s eyebrows were pulling together, her breath coming in little pants already, fingers raking down Root’s stomach, leaving bright red stripes behind, to Root’s thigh. Root curled her fingers them inside of Shaw, her thumb on Shaw’s clitoris, and watched Shaw’s tongue dart out to wet her bottom lip, her eyes screwed shut. The muscles clenching on Root’s fingers grabbed tighter as Root thrust harder, and Shaw grunted once when her hips started moving out of her own control, hands grabbing hard at Root, who bent back over Shaw to kiss her as she rode her orgasm.

Root slowed for a few moments, her fingers still deep inside of Shaw, relishing the feeling of the quivering muscles. But she was not satisfied, because Shaw had been almost completely silent.

She kissed Shaw again, scraped teeth down her throat while she was still recovering, then moved to put her head between Shaw’s legs. Shaw’s eyes were still closed, her breaths coming quick, when Root started to withdraw her fingers and instead of pulling them out all the way, slid them forcefully back inside of Shaw, her mouth finding Shaw’s clitoris.

Shaw inhaled with a hiss of air and her hands found Root’s head and shoulders.

The sweet taste of Shaw filled Root’s mouth, her nose buried in the dark hair, and she thrust hard inside of Shaw, her fingers still curling to penetrate at the perfect angle, and she pressed her other hand into the soft part of Shaw’s abdomen just above her pelvis, hard enough to keep Shaw pinned in place as Root used her teeth and tongue on the sensitive flesh.

Shaw hadn’t fully finished with her first orgasm before she was breathing sharply again, little exhales coming hard. But even as Root’s mouth almost lost it’s place because Shaw’s hips were grinding into her face, finger nails so firmly cutting into her back that she thought she might be bleeding, muscles clenching harder on her hand than Root had thought possible… the most noise that came from Shaw was the sound of heavy, uneven breaths, punctuated by little grunts of air on some of the exhalations.

Root kept moving until the muscles stopped contracting as much. The fingernails had been so deeply clawed into her back that she didn’t know they were gone until she felt Shaw’s clammy hands on the sides of her head. Root slowed and then stopped completely, exhaling onto Shaw’s swollen clitoris. Shaw tensed when Root slowly started to remove her fingers, shaking and digging her finger nails into Root’s scalp.

Root smirked and started to move them back inside of Shaw, but Shaw whimpered and reached between her legs for Root’s hand to stop her. The sound of Shaw’s whimper made Root’s heart leap into her throat with the fear that she had hurt the shorter woman.

“I won’t,” Root whispered when Shaw’s hand grabbed onto hers, preventing her from moving. Shaw loosened her grip and fell limply against the bed. She tilted her head up just enough to watch Root wipe her chin with the back of her hand, then finish the job with the sheet because there was so much moisture from Shaw and from her own mouth that there wasn’t anything else to do.

Root slowly moved up Shaw’s body and hovered above Shaw’s face, whose eyes were closed and whose mouth was partially open.

“Did I hurt you?” Root asked, annoyed that her concern was so obvious. Shaw smiled a little and opened her eyes.

“No,” Shaw replied. Root’s face stayed worried, and Shaw put her arms around the taller woman limply. Shaw looked directly into Root’s eyes when she continued, her voice hoarse, making sure that Root understood when she smirked. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ come that hard.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this chapter is a little shorter, I'll post Chapter 6 tomorrow. It'll be another short one.

Root slowly moved up Shaw’s body and hovered above Shaw’s face, whose eyes were closed and whose mouth was partially open.

“Did I hurt you?” Root asked, annoyed that her concern was so obvious. Shaw smiled a little and opened her eyes.

“No,” Shaw replied. Root’s face stayed worried, and Shaw put her arms around the taller woman limply. Shaw looked directly into Root’s eyes when she continued, her voice hoarse, making sure that Root understood when she smirked. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ come that hard.”

Root’s face shifted into a self-satisfied smile.

“I don’t want to hyperventilate or pass out or something,” Shaw said between deep breaths, smile widening even though her tone was annoyed. Like she _did_ perhaps want to see what would have happened if she truly let Root have her way. Root chuckled, kissing Shaw’s shoulder and rolling off of her so they were side by side on the twin bed, shoulders pressed together.

Shaw laid there for a while longer, slowly recovering. Then she turned onto her side, breasts pressing against Root. Root let her head turn to look at Shaw coyly, but the shorter woman was not looking at Root’s face.

“Shit,” Shaw murmured, her fingers gently gliding over Root’s chest and stomach. Root thought for a moment that Shaw was going to get up, and felt her pulse quicken at the thought of pinning Shaw down, naked. Shaw didn’t move but to tilt her head down, kissing Root’s breast. The taller woman was surprised when it stung.

“Sorry,” Shaw said, “I’m not sure I want to know what your back looks like.”

Root lifted her head and looked down at her body. There were jagged red welts over her torso. Shaw gently pushed on her shoulder to get her to turn away from her, revealing the back of her shoulders to the smaller woman.

“I guess you won’t be wearing tank tops for a few days…” Shaw said, sounding equal parts impressed, pleased, and apologetic.

“Is it worse than the front?” Root asked. When Shaw’s callused finger tips brushed across Root’s shoulder blades, Root inhaled at the sharp pain and her shoulders tightened.

“You’re not bleeding, but it’s… pretty raw,” Shaw replied. She eased Root onto her back again and then leaned forward to kiss her. When she pulled her head away, she softly touched Root’s bottom lip, which felt bruised and swollen. “Your lip doesn’t look great either. Sorry about that.”

Root smirked.

“Good thing I’ve got my doctor to take care of me,” she teased. Shaw rolled her eyes and rested her head on the soft expanse of skin between Root’s shoulder and bare chest, one hand covering one of Root’s breasts. Root was pleased with how comfortable it was, one of Shaw’s legs wrapping over hers, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Like they were supposed to have ended up this way. Perfect puzzle pieces.

She was so spent that she thought she’d fall asleep if she wasn’t careful. In fact, she almost _had_ fallen asleep when Shaw started to move again. Cool air hit Root and she felt the mattress shift as Shaw stood. Root grabbed her as Shaw slipped from her side, one hand closing harshly on Shaw’s wrist as her eyes shot open and she sat up.

“Don’t try to leave,” Root warned her, glaring sternly. Shaw looked confused, and then, after a beat, _wounded_.

“I was getting our clothes,” Shaw replied, pissed and sad. “They’re going to come back, and I didn’t want to fall asleep like this.”

Shaw gestured to herself. Root’s eyes drifted down Shaw’s naked body, the places that she had gotten to feel and taste in the intimate moments they’d shared. And somehow she’d now hurt Shaw’s feelings, it seemed. This perplexed Root; she hadn’t realized it was _possible_ for Shaw’s feeling to be hurt. She gently licked at her swollen lip, letting her grip slip from Shaw’s wrist, catching her fingers before the shorter woman could pull her hand away. Root lifted Shaw’s hand to her lips, kissing her knuckles and then meeting her eyes apologetically.

Shaw turned her hand over in Root’s, cupping Root’s face, surprisingly gentle.

They were interrupted by the clicking of dog nails. Bear trotted over to them from where he’d been laying nearby, tail and ears perked up. Shaw removed her hand from Root and placed it heavily on Bear’s head. When she tried to scratch behind his ear he pulled his head away, sniffing at her fingers uncertainly.

Root stood up and Bear circled the cot curiously, sniffing at everything. When he started nosing at Root’s bare legs, Shaw commanded him to stop and he snapped his head away, returning to her side with his tail lowered. Shaw sent him away towards his bed and he padded away softly.

Bending over, Shaw picked up clothes from the ground, dropping them onto the bed unceremoniously, searching for something. Root spotted what Shaw was looking for, and scooped it up from the floor beside her. She moved around the bed, arranging her face into the usual playful smile, the boy shorts between her two hands. She stopped in front of Shaw, their faces close together.

“You might not want to lose these,” she said, her nose wrinkling playfully. Shaw looked annoyed as she tried to take them, but Root didn’t let go immediately. Shaw smirked a little and tugged on them them harder until they were released and Root picked up her own clothes from the bed and started to get dressed. “I was disappointed I didn’t get to admire those longer.”

Shaw finished pulling her tank top over her head and looked at Root, confused, standing there with no pants. Root smiled coyly as she let her eyes drift down Shaw’s body.

“I’m sure the lacy underwear is great, but this,” Root said, gesturing to Shaw’s body, “is much more you.”

Shaw grunted a laugh as she picked up her jeans from the ground and then dropped them on the bed.

“Maybe another time,” Shaw said. Root pulled her jeans on, then grabbed her shirt, pulling it over her head and shaking her hair out from under the rumpled edge of the fabric, distorted from Shaw’s earlier stretching of the material.

“I look forward to it,” Root said playfully.

Shaw closed the gap between them, still in her underwear and tank top, looking thoughtful. Root’s stomach flipped when Shaw shifted her weight to one foot casually. Root weighed her physical response and was disconcerted; this wasn’t a wary reaction to a perceived threat. No, Root was _content_. _Pleased_ by how at ease Shaw seemed. And all of this not even a week after the incident with the needle. Her chest felt tight, full to bursting with positivity. The feeling was foreign, though not unwelcome. Just as she began to wonder what Shaw was thinking about, if it could be the same sort of thoughts Root was having, Shaw reached out and ran her hands through Root’s hair methodically, brushing pieces into place, then stepped back a little. Root looked at her questioningly, exerting effort to mask her emotions.

“You look like you just got laid. Thought I should make you look a little more put together,” Shaw said, smirking up at her. Root raised her eyebrows and then forced herself not to think much about what she was doing. Reaching out, she put her hands on Shaw’s waist, pulling her close and tilting her head down, kissing her gently, slowly, savoring the way Shaw’s mouth still tasted like Root’s own body. When she pulled away, Shaw looked longingly at her mouth.

“I _did_ just get laid,” Root replied, taking a beat to smile down at Shaw. Shaw closed her eyes for a moment, a little frustrated when she took a deep breath. Then she turned and walked towards the bathroom. The door stood open behind her when she went inside, and Root heard the shower turn on. Shaw appeared in the doorway after a beat.

“Want to check how the shower works?” Shaw asked stoically, arms crossed over her chest. Root crossed the room with a smile on her face. When she got to Shaw, the shorter woman smirked at her and took a step backwards into the room. Root tilted her head to one side.

“What if the boys come back?” she asked, almost apologetic. Shaw’s smirk faded and after a beat, she nodded.

“Yeah,” she replied. She sighed and broke their eye contact, looking down at the floor as she turned away, pulling the tank top off over her head. Root watched the strong muscles in Shaw’s back and stepped towards her, letting her hands find Shaw’s hips and circle around her from behind, fingers dipping under the waistband of Shaw’s underwear, pulling Shaw’s back to her chest.

“Next time,” Root whispered, kissing the soft spot behind Shaw’s ear. She turned towards Root, smirking again.

“Don’t be a tease,” Shaw growled. Root kissed Shaw, then let her go.

“Enjoy your shower,” she said playfully, retreating from the bathroom without looking back.


	6. Chapter 6

Shaw emerged from the bathroom a short time later, drying her hair with a small towel. She glanced around the subway station as she crossed the platform towards Root in her tank top and underwear again, her bra in one hand.

“Forgot clean clothes,” Shaw grumbled as she approached the cot where Root was sitting, the sheets straightened but still looking more unkempt than they had a few hours ago. Root sat up and grabbed the duffel, pulling it up beside her onto the mattress. Shaw unzipped it and pointedly selected the same boyish cut underwear along with a few other things. Immediately, Root noted that Shaw smelled different. This was not the usual soap she used. Root missed the old smell- the sharp warmth, like wood. This was cloyingly sweet and far too girly.

Shaw pretended it was an accident when she bumped against Root’s knee, leaving her leg pressed against Root’s. Root smirked and put a hand on the smooth bare thigh, admiring how much darker Shaw’s skin was than her own pale hand.

“Trying a new shampoo?” Root asked sarcastically. Shaw scowled at the reminder.

“Finch,” Shaw replied. She shook her head, “The guy clearly doesn’t get women.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t get _you_ ,” Root replied, pulling Shaw to stand between her knees. Root pushed the tank top up, digging her nails into Shaw’s sides. When Root leaned forward, kissing Shaw’s stomach, the shorter woman’s hands ran through her hair, finger tips digging into her scalp.

“Root,” Shaw warned. Root leaned back, smirking as she slid her hand further up under the tank top to Shaw’s breast.

Root rolled Shaw’s nipple hard between her fingers, pinching indelicately as she teased, “You aren’t exactly _typical_.”

They both knew there wasn’t enough time for Root to start things again, and Shaw’s darkening eyes were filled with frustration as she pulled Root’s hand out from under her tank top.

“All women want a full-sized towel,” Shaw replied as she backed away, holding out the towel that she’d dried her hair off with. It was a hand towel. Root chuckled as Shaw rolled her eyes, regaining her composure, picking up the clothes she’d pulled out of the duffle bag and going back to the bathroom.

It was then that Harold returned. When he saw that Shaw was missing his eyes widened.

“Where’s Miss Shaw?” He asked, concerned.

“Just in the bathroom, Harold. You worry too much,” Root told him. When he got close enough to her, she saw his eyebrows raise.

“Apparently not. Was there an altercation?” He asked. Root realized he was reacting to her lip and licked it gingerly.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, smiling because she had no intention of disclosing what had happened, but she didn't want him to think that they’d been fighting. Shaw didn't need him giving her a hard time. It seemed as though she didn’t _need_ to tell him; his pursed lips and eyes full of frustration said he probably knew what had gone on in his absence. He looked over the cot Root was sitting on as Shaw came out of the bathroom, dressed now, tying her damp hair into a pony tail.

“You got the number?” She asked, not even glancing in Root’s direction. He turned to look at her.

“Yes, everything went smoothly,” he replied.

The Machine whispered in Root’s ear, so she didn’t have time to hear about the latest save.

“Well, I’m glad we got to have some girl time,” she said to Shaw. Shaw looked over at her and her mouth twitched into a smile. Root pouted, “But I’ve gotta run.”

Shaw acted annoyed and relieved at this news as Root picked her coat up from where it was still lying on the floor, feeling her raw shoulders rub against the inside of her t-shirt as she walked away. Later, she would take a look at her back in the mirror and see that the red welts from Shaw’s nails still hadn’t faded at all, little crescent-shaped abrasions dotting the spaces between the long stripes of crimson. Constellations.


	7. Chapter 7

Root stopped at the subway station two days later. It wasn’t really necessary that she meet Harold _there_ to give him the newest information she'd pieced together from Her, but she was glad for the opportunity to check on Shaw.

When Root walked in, Shaw was standing at one end of the platform facing away, sending Bear after a rat. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips and her hair was in the usual low pony tail. Her snug shirt and running shorts caught Root’s appreciative eye.

“It’s a little hard to work with all the noise, Miss Shaw,” Harold scolded as Root entered their hideout.

“Well it’s a little hard to _live_ down here with rats running around. Let us have some fun,” Shaw replied loudly, not looking in Finch’s direction at all. Before he could say anything to reveal Root’s presence, Root spoke down the platform.

“Is that the only fun you can find?” Root teased. Shaw looked up and whistled at Bear to come, walking down the platform towards Root.

“With Finch as my company, working on things he won’t let me in on? Yeah,” Shaw said, antsy and annoyed. Root gave her a sympathetic look, and handed Finch a closed manila envelope.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got to add to the secrets,” Root said. Shaw shook her head, angrily stalking past with Bear.

“I don’t know which one of them is more bothersome,” Finch said quietly to Root as Shaw picked up a piece of PVC pipe and threw it, hard, spinning end over end as Bear chased after it, growling excitedly. It clattered on the floor when Bear caught it and dropped it to get a better grip with his teeth. “I brought her some books and a deck of cards, but _clearly_ that’s not enough.”

“Look that over, I’ll keep her distracted for a bit,” Root replied in a casually-amused tone. Harold opened the envelope at his desk and Root left the door of the subway car to head towards Shaw.

“What’s your latest identity?” Shaw asked, throwing the pipe again after giving Root’s bright lipstick and oversized black leather purse a long look.

“Katya Romanov, a Russian immigrant with expensive taste,” Root said with a smile, putting the black bag she was carrying onto Shaw’s cot. She turned back towards Shaw and noticed that on the floor there were tidy stacks of clothing that Root had brought on her last visit. Root smiled at the thought of Shaw creating order. Shaw looked questioningly at the bag, and Root gestured for her to open it.

When Shaw came to her side, curious, Root stood half-behind her, her chest brushing Shaw’s shoulder. Shaw gave her an irritated sidelong look and then craned to see if Finch was paying any attention. Root smirked and stepped back, giving Shaw space to open the bag.

First Shaw pulled out a laptop, a charger, and extension cords.

“I think Finch has the whole computer thing covered,” Shaw said. Root tilted her head playfully.

“This is to keep yourself busy. You can read anything, watch anything, but you can’t purchase anything. And I’ve got some accounts for you to use for streaming television or movies, that sort of thing,” Root explained, and Shaw didn’t even try to look excited. “There are even some live sports streaming channels you have access to. I thought that might be up your alley.”

Shaw nodded, but Root still saw through the attempt to show appreciation for the gift.

“There’s more in there,” Root said. Truth be told, she’d known that the laptop might not be a hit with Shaw. Under the laptop were the things she thought Shaw would appreciate a little more.

Shaw pulled the bag open wider and pulled out a large, soft, grey towel, folded up. She looked over at Root with thinly suppressed glee. 

“Thought you might like that. Be careful when you unfold it,” Root instructed. Shaw followed Root’s orders and actually grinned as she removed it’s contents. A bar of soap still wrapped in cadet blue paper, tied with twine in a cutesy but masculine way, two matching bottles of shampoo and conditioner, deodorant, lotion, and last but not least, a razor. She lifted the soap to her nose.

“This smells like my favorite soap,” Shaw said, suspicious when the taller woman smiled. “Did She tell you to bring me this stuff?”

“No,” Root said simply. It was the truth. She hoped Shaw knew that.

“You’re a woman after my own heart,” Shaw said, sarcastic. Root continued to smile at Shaw until Bear came to Shaw’s side, curiously sniffing at the bag.

Shaw sent him away, and he went running off down the platform to where the PVC pipe had been left before.

“Miss Groves?” Harold called from the subway car, looking at Bear with frustration clear on his face. Root walked over to him, and while he asked her questions about what she’d brought in the envelope, Shaw started to do pushups beside the cot, settling back into her frustration.

Once they’d sorted out the information from the Machine, Harold turned back to his computer, typing away. Root looked down the platform, where Shaw was finishing doing sit-ups and was eyeing pipes above her head. The taller woman headed back to Shaw just as she jumped and grabbed one of the beams.

The first pull-up was effortless. The second was a little slower, but not by much. Root admired Shaw’s strong body as she pulled herself up a third time, then a fourth. By the eighth pull-up, she had to pause, adjusting her grip as she hung in the air. She pulled and for a moment it looked like her chin might not clear the bar. It did, and then she let her arms straighten again, hanging, resting.

“What, no even ten?” Root asked, moving around to stand in front of Shaw. Shaw was clearly annoyed at the comment, and Root smiled. Shaw grunted as she pulled herself up again, again barely clearing the bar. Root raised an eyebrow, motioning with her head for Shaw to do another. Shaw grimaced a little but did a tenth one, then dropped to the floor.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping Finch?” Shaw grumbled.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Root teased. It took Shaw a second to realize the implication- that Root was just keeping Shaw out of Finch’s hair. Shaw frowned a little more than before, her eyes soft before she turned away, hiding her face from view. She went a few steps closer to the cot and then started doing burpees, still turned away from Root. Root watched as Shaw dropped to the floor, did a push-up, jumped her legs back between her hands, then leapt into the air, knees almost touching her chest. Root watched her repeat the action over and over until she lost count. Finally Shaw stopped and Root watched her ribcage expand and compress as she breathed heavily.

“I have to go look into some things,” Finch said cryptically, and both Root and Shaw turned, startled, not expecting him to be so nearby. He’d gathered up some things from his desk and was ready to leave. His eyes were on Shaw, and it was clear he was at his wits’ end.

“We’ll be here,” Root said cheerfully. He looked at them tiredly and then turned to leave.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. Mr. Reese intends to come after work, he may get here first,” Finch said over his shoulder.

Shaw had turned and was looking at Root intensely. Neither of them spoke or moved while they listened to the fading sounds of Finch’s uneven footsteps. Once the sound was gone, each looked expectantly at the other, waiting to see who would speak first.

Root decided to end the competition.

“Tried any new restaurants lately?” She asked with a teasing smirk, sauntering over to Shaw, who scowled.

“Fuck you,” she snarled, unimpressed by Root’s pestering. Root raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“If you want,” she replied. Shaw’s eyes narrowed, unamused and increasingly angry.

“You think this is funny?” Shaw asked, and the scathing look made a rush of fear pass over Root.

“No,” Root said sternly, “but I’m trying to cheer you up some.”

“Well you’re not,” Shaw spat, turning away again to pace, her fists tightly clenched at her sides. Root could see that Shaw was shutting down, fighting with Root because she was the only one there to pick a fight with. Root ground her teeth together, then took a deep breath and sighed on the exhale.

“Is this really what you want to do? Yell at me?” Root asked as if Shaw was a petulant child. Shaw looked back at Root with an irritated, questioning look on her face. Root smiled and let her usual light-hearted tone return. “There are more _enjoyable_ ways to spend our time alone.”

Understanding dawned on Shaw’s face. Her jaw clenched when Root walked past her and sat down on the cot, smirking up at her. Shaw stood over her, a few feet away.

“I don’t know what you think this is,” Shaw said, trying hard not to let her anger get the better of her as she gestured with one hand at the two of them. Root watched the motion and even when Shaw’s hand had dropped to her side again Root continued to look at it. She didn’t want to have to have this conversation. Root shrugged a little.

“Whatever you want it to be,” she replied. Shaw’s lip pulled upward in anger and Root saw that she’d given the wrong answer. She didn’t know what the right answer was, but whatever it was, she wanted to give it.

“I get it. You’re here because the Machine wants you to be- but I don’t need protecting. So why don’t you go do whatever it is She’s telling you to do next,” Shaw said. Root didn't point out that She wasn't saying much of anything these days.

“I’m here because _you’re_ here,” Root replied, barely suppressing her indignation.

“So what then? What do you want? I don’t _do_ relationships, I do one-night stands. I don’t cuddle. I don’t do breakfast-” Shaw tripped over her words, trying to stop herself from saying whatever it was that was going to come out next, but she couldn’t keep it inside. “I don’t- I’ve only slept with one other woman.”

Root had been preparing a defense against relationships, cuddling. She’d been ready to say they didn’t have to _be_ anything in particular, that they could just have sex because it was a tension release if that’s what Shaw wanted. A means to an end. But then that last sentence had come, full of anxiety, and that made Root take pause. She looked thoughtfully at Shaw, trying to decide how best to respond.

“I don’t care about people,” Shaw said, quieter now, with her large dark eyes shining, “I don’t want to care.”

The difference made by the additional word had Root feeling the same pressure in her chest that she’d felt the last time they were in the subway station together. Because when Shaw spoke, it wasn’t in a way that said that she _liked_ that she didn’t care. It was said as if she felt defeated, because she _did_ care. Root’s heart ached as she glimpsed the inside of Shaw’s world, the frayed edges of the tapestry. And she could see that Shaw was scared, no matter how much she denied it.

“Sometimes we don’t get to choose who we care about,” Root said meaningfully, and Shaw met her gaze. Root almost said flat out that she cared for Shaw, but she couldn’t bring herself to be quite that vulnerable. So she left it open-ended, hoping Shaw would know what she meant.

Shaw shifted her weight to her other foot, and Root saw that she was trying to decide if she should step closer or not.

“Come here,” Root said softly. Shaw didn’t move. “Please.”

“What do you want?” Shaw asked, angrier now, stepping closer despite her frustration. Root smirked and stood up, steering the conversation away from the serious again.

“I want _you_ ,” she said. Sincerity masked as seduction. It was Root’s forte.

Shaw looked angry that she wasn’t being taken seriously, but Root could see that she was watching her mouth, eyes dark. Root bit her bottom lip just to watch Shaw’s eyes get darker. Angrier.

A lump formed in Root’s throat, and she swallowed to dispel her anxiety.

Shaw wouldn’t look away from her, but wouldn’t close the distance either. So Root stepped closer, doing her best to keep the movement fluid and unconcerned. She wondered if she was successfully imitating her usual swagger. More importantly, she wondered if Shaw could tell how nervous she felt.

Shaw didn’t seem to, she just watched as Root got closer still, and then they were finally only inches apart, and Root tried to smirk but could feel her eyebrows pulling up microscopically at the same time, concerned. Shaw looked away, past Root’s shoulder.

The taller woman wasn’t sure if she should be the one to bridge the gap or if she should let Shaw do it. But Shaw wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t acknowledge how close they were. Root let her eyes search Shaw’s face, hoping to see some clue as to what she should do. There wasn’t any, so Root sighed softly and looked down, watching Shaw’s chest rise and fall, then to Shaw’s hands, planted firmly on her hips, then down more to her own hands.

Root dug her thumbnail into the soft flesh of the bed under her middle finger’s nail, a distraction to pull herself out of her loss for words and actions. She turned away from Shaw, annoyed that she was being ignored. Annoyed that she _cared_ so much about getting Shaw to interact with her.

“I think Harold had some things he wanted me to look at,” she said. It was a lie, and she was mad that she was lying about something so stupid, and mad that Shaw was getting under her skin, most likely without realizing she was doing it. Shaw was winning, she had gotten her fight and now she could sulk all she wanted.

Root started to walk away, back to the subway car.

But Root was wrong. Shaw _hadn’t_ won.

A hand closed on Root’s forearm, reaching around from behind her, and jerked her back around.

Shaw was furious. And that made Root smirk again, knowing immediately that Shaw was far from winning. That in fact, Root was going to get her way.

“Don’t,” Shaw growled at her when she caught the look of satisfaction. Root tilted her head to one side lightheartedly, and Shaw reacted with ferocity. She yanked on Root’s arm again, twisting it in a circle to hyperextend Root’s shoulder, and Root realized when the action hurt so much that she jumped that Shaw had picked Root’s bad arm on purpose. And that Shaw wanted to hurt her.

“Play nice,” Root teased, knowing as soon the words exited her mouth that the pained, sharp edge to her voice would be obvious to Shaw. Shaw let up the pressure on Root’s shoulder, looking sternly at her to show her who was in charge. Even when Shaw let Root pull her arm free, she kept giving her the same stony, pissed off look.

“You keep asking what I want,” Root said, reflecting the same dark anger back at Shaw.

“What do _you_ want?” Root threw the question back at Shaw, who looked angrier than ever. Root continued, the pitch of her voice climbing in irritation. “Do you want to hurt me?”

“Yes,” Shaw hissed venomously. Then she looked away, her face twisting and looking even more pissed off as she put one hand up, rubbing at her scowling mouth with one rough hand. She let go of her face again and her hand went to her side, a tight fist. Keeping her eyes on some distant point, shaking her head, through clenched teeth she snarled, “no.”

Root’s eyebrows raised and her stomach turned. Her shoulder was still throbbing in pain, and she wondered if Shaw had damaged her rotator cuff.

The dark eyes wouldn’t meet Root’s even when she put her hand on Shaw’s shoulder. Root moved her hand up, fingers wrapping around to the back of the shorter woman’s neck. She let her thumb brush over Shaw’s throat. When she still got no reaction, she tightened her hand’s grip, digging her thumb hard into Shaw’s skin, finding the soft flesh beside Shaw’s hard windpipe. Immediately, Shaw looked into her eyes.

The pressure wasn’t cutting off Shaw’s air; that wasn’t the point.

It was all about pain, and when Shaw tried to swallow against the discomfort, it only lodged Root’s thumb deeper into her skin. Shaw’s eyes watered and her throat started to spasm, coughing against Root’s fingers. Root let up the pressure and leaned down, softly kissing the red splotch where she’d been pushing.

“I want _you_ ,” Root repeated, her lips against Shaw’s throat. Shaw didn’t pull away. If anything, it felt like she was leaning closer to Root.

“I want to make you beg,” Root continued, placing a kiss higher up on Shaw’s neck.

“I don’t beg,” Shaw mumbled in irritation. Root kissed her jaw. “I don’t _perform_.”

Root kissed the corner of Shaw’s mouth, the downturned point where her lips met, then paused, smiling a little when she looked up and saw that Shaw’s eyes were on hers.

“You can’t blame me for trying,” Root said. Shaw’s eyebrows lowered in anger.

“I don’t beg,” Shaw repeated dismissively. Root smiled and kissed her, finally, hands moving to rest on either side of her face. She was soft, slow, and Shaw kissed her back but didn’t reach out for her. Didn’t try to touch her.

Root released her and leaned back. She guessed that Shaw would stop her again, so she acted like she was going to walk away. And if Shaw _didn’t_ stop her, Root thought, then she would just keep walking into the subway car and she would fiddle with the Machine and Finch’s computers. She didn’t need Shaw, she reminded herself. Not really.

But her contingency plan was unnecessary, of course. As soon as Shaw realized that Root was stepping back with that little smile on her face, her mouth twisted into a deeper frown and she reached out for Root.

“Damn it,” Shaw cursed herself before tugging them back together and kissing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girls and boys, I’ve got some good news. Well, _hopefully_ you think it’s good news! I plan to keep posting a chapter approximately every other day until the whole story is complete. I just mapped it out and if I stick to my plan, I should be finishing around when Person of Interest comes back in full swing in January.
> 
> I do have a bit of a buffer written, but the closer it gets to the holidays, the busier I'm going to be, so I'll do my best to keep posting a chapter every other day. I also just noticed this morning that this story has gotten almost 5000 hits! That's amazing! I hope I'm staying true to the characters and that you guys are enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is another E-rated chapter! And once again, you'll be able to do just fine skipping it.
> 
> I'm glad to see that you guys are enjoying this. I know I am! The comments you guys leave make my day- from the shortest to the longest, every one of them makes me smile. Thanks so much!

“Damn it,” Shaw cursed herself before tugging them back together and kissing Root.

Shaw’s kiss was rough, and Root felt like electricity was coursing through her thinking about the last time they were here. Shaw’s teeth clamped down on Root’s lip, the lip that was just beginning to feel normal again. It hurt. The fresh sting made her stomach drop, but not unpleasantly.

Root started to push Shaw back towards the bed, still kissing, and Shaw tried to grab her and drag her instead. Fighting for control. Or fighting for the sake of fighting.

So Root let Shaw pull her along to the bed, but when they got close to the cot and Shaw tried to turn her and push her into the mattress, Root fought back, grabbing Shaw instead and shoving her down, pinning her to the cot. She wasn’t quite as quick as Shaw, and she didn’t know every move, but she knew _enough_ and had the advantage of size.

Once she was straddling Shaw’s hips she sank her teeth into Shaw’s bottom lip, returning the favor for her own swollen mouth. Shaw lifted her head, pushing up against Root, her hands on Root’s chest to try to force her to dismount, but Root only bit harder, grabbing Shaw’s upper arms and putting her weight on them to keep Shaw down, flat on her back.

Shaw kicked, pushing off the mattress with both feet, and Root stopped the kiss and sat back, looking at her with a commanding smirk. Shaw’s mouth was three different shades. There was a burgundy smear of Root’s lipstick on her mouth, the natural dusky pink of her own lips, and a shockingly bright red splotch. Shaw’s tongue darted out of her mouth to the red, and Root was surprised when she licked her own that she tasted pennies. She removed one hand from Shaw’s upper arms and touched her lip. It didn’t hurt any worse than before, but there was certainly a smudge of blood on her finger tip when she looked it at, and Shaw’s teeth were tinted with rust until she licked them clean. Root bent down and gently kissed and licked Shaw’s lips, more coppery than her own mouth. When she sat back, she could see that there was a split in Shaw’s lip.

Shaw writhed under her hips, a frustrated look on her face, her eyes bright. Her free arm reached up for Root’s shirt, trying to pull them back together, but Root grabbed her arm, shoving it up above her head with a smile. She did the same with Shaw’s other arm.

“No, I don’t think that’s how this is going to go,” Root told her, trying to stop herself from smiling and failing. Shaw looked angry, of course, but also intrigued. Excited, even.

“Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” Shaw asked with a sneer, shifting her hips up against Root again. Root leaned down to Shaw a little.

“It means we’re going to do things _my_ way,” Root said, playful. Then she let her face grow more solemn, “Or I’m going to stop.”

Shaw scoffed a little, amused, and then she licked at her split lip again, looking like she was mulling this over, wondering what exactly Root intended to do. Root moved and pulled Shaw up into a sitting position to pull her tank top off. Shaw let her, and then let her pull off the simple sports bra. Both were damp with perspiration from Shaw’s rigorous workout.

But then Shaw reached out to Root’s shirt. And as soon as she reached for the taller woman, Root grabbed both of her arms again and shoved her back into the mattress. Shaw’s face became shadowed with anger, and she grit her teeth.

“I didn’t say you could touch,” Root said, coy but harsh. Shaw shook her head, rolling her eyes, and Root let go of Shaw’s wrists. Root then told her, “Put your hands behind your head, and don’t move unless I tell you to.”

Shaw did as she was told slowly, watching Root’s face closely.

The shoulder that Shaw had twisted before was still aching, a dull throbbing pain when she pushed too hard. It wasn’t enough to derail the plans she was forming in her mind, but it was still noticeable when she leaned down over Shaw’s chest and put her weight on her hands, her hair falling across Shaw’s skin.

Root kissed Shaw again, letting her hands lightly brush over Shaw’s cool skin. The subway station seemed colder than usual, and there were already goosebumps raising on Shaw’s flesh, her nipples hard from cold and arousal. Root kissed Shaw’s throat, shifting her weight to lay on top of her, one leg between Shaw’s to keep her pinned to the bed.

She sank her teeth hard into the still-pink spot where she’d dug her thumb into Shaw’s windpipe minutes earlier and could feel Shaw’s muscles tighten, one leg working to wrap its way around Root’s, trying to press them closer together. Root released Shaw’s throat and reached down with one hand, shoving Shaw’s leg back onto the bed, her hand warm against Shaw’s cool bare thigh where her running shorts were riding up. Root smirked. She didn’t want Shaw to be able to get any friction; Root wanted to hold all the cards. The only acknowledgment was a sigh, and once again Root admired the blurred arousal and fury in Shaw’s face. It was beautiful to watch.

“What?” Shaw asked, impatient. Root realized she had been still for a long couple of seconds, smiling down at Shaw affectionately, and she swallowed her feelings. She could only hope that she had played it off as though she were trying to make Shaw wait. Bending down again, Root gave the red spot on Shaw’s neck another bite, then moved down lower, kissing and letting her hair drift across Shaw’s chest.

She hovered open-mouthed above one of Shaw’s peaked nipples, exhaling onto Shaw’s goose bump-covered skin. Shaw twitched upwards a fraction of an inch, and Root started to pull away. She heard Shaw’s gruff exhalation as she forced her spine to flatten again. Root moved closer once more, laughing onto Shaw’s bare skin, still not touching her. It seemed like Shaw was trying as best she could to breathe slowly and evenly. Root moved her head lower, and Shaw’s stomach sucked in when Root’s hair drifted across it.

Putting her hands on Shaw’s bare thighs, Root sat up and looked at Shaw’s expression, almost pained. Root got up from the bed, untying Shaw’s shoes and pulling them off of her feet with her socks, then sat on the edge of the bed, leisurely unzipping her black boots and letting them fall to the ground one at a time. Shaw’s eyes never left her.

Root put her hand on Shaw’s bare foot, wrapping her fingers around to the warm sole. Then she let her hand drift up Shaw’s shin, watching her fingers brush up to Shaw’s knee, then looked up at Shaw’s face again. She was shivering, her eyes still on Root’s face, her hands still beneath her head, trying to look casual and failing.

“Cold?” Root asked, standing up just enough to move back on top of Shaw, her hand never leaving Shaw’s body, drifting up her thigh, past the shorts, to her smooth stomach. Shaw didn’t answer, she just tipped her chin up a little. Root covered Shaw’s body with her own, and when she went to kiss her, their noses touched and Root could feel just how cold Shaw’s nose was. She placed a kiss there too, then moved down to Shaw’s chest again.

Root exhaled onto Shaw’s nipple again, letting her hand rest on Shaw’s stomach, palm flat and warm against Shaw’s cool skin. Then, without any warning, she took the nipple into her mouth, tongue circling, surprised at how cold Shaw's nipple was. Root could feel Shaw shifting underneath her, and closed her teeth on Shaw’s flesh, her free hand moving to knead Shaw’s other breast. The noise that came from Shaw’s throat was deliciously arousing, a strained 'mmm', and Root could feel that Shaw’s thighs were tightening, trying not to move. When her back began to arch off of the mattress, Root released her again, getting a satisfying grunt in response when she put a firm hand on Shaw’s stomach to keep her down.

A phone started ringing, and Root looked up in confusion, searching for the source.

“It’s mine,” Shaw said, through gritted teeth. Shaw started to get up, trying to disentangle herself from Root’s body, but Root grabbed her, forcing her back onto the bed.

“I didn’t say you could get up,” Root said, sly as ever.

“It’s either Finch or Reese,” Shaw said, irritated. “They might be in trouble.”

Root sighed and got up.

“Where is it?” She asked, but she’d already seen it then, vibrating on the ground beside the stacks of clothes. She went and answered it, putting it on speakerphone as she turned back to Shaw, who was reaching out with one hand, her legs bent, feet flat on the bed. Root shook her head, smiling, and held the phone in one hand, using her other to pull Shaw’s hand back behind her head again. Shaw understood and put her other hand beneath the pillow as well, excitement and worry clear on her face.

“Shaw?” It was John’s tinny voice that came out of the speaker, wondering why no one had spoken yet. Root put the phone down between Shaw’s breasts, watching her twitch as the cold metal hit her sternum.

“Yeah,” Shaw said, her voice tense. Root knew that if something was truly wrong with John and Finch, she would have heard something, so she wasn’t particularly worried.

“I’m going to be off work soon; I’ll head your way. Finch wanted me to bring dinner. Any preferences?” John asked. While he was speaking, Root sat down at the foot of the bed, touching one of Shaw’s cold feet again and kissing above her knee.

“Uhh…” Shaw mumbled as Root’s hands traveled up her thighs to the little running shorts. Shaw rushed to get her words out, “I don’t care.”

Root pulled Shaw’s running shorts down and off her cold feet, revealing black boxer briefs, hugging Shaw’s ass perfectly, the wide waistband masculine and Shaw’s beautiful curves feminine and Root wanted so much to kiss every inch of this dangerous woman who was clenching her jaw, trying hard to follow Root’s rules.

“You ok?” John asked. Root shifted and Shaw’s head tilted to see what she was up to. Root smirked up at her as she kissed just below Shaw’s belly button. She could see Shaw lips form a little O, her eyes heavily lidded. John sounded concerned, “ _Shaw_?”

“What?” Shaw barked, her voice higher than usual.

“Is everything ok?” he asked. Then Root kissed Shaw through the fabric of her underwear, pleased that she was already wet. The familiar smell of Shaw’s body filled Root’s senses as she opened her mouth and grated her teeth over the black fabric, exhaling hot onto Shaw’s center.

“Yes,” Shaw answered abruptly, the word harsh, ending a hiss. Root let her fingers drift and rested her head on Shaw’s thigh to smile up at her as she pressed her fingers against Shaw through the briefs. Shaw bit down on her lip and her hips moved against Root’s hand.

“You sure?” John asked. Root stopped touching Shaw, pushing her hips back into the mattress with a little shake of the head, still smiling.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Shaw growled.

“Alright, I’ll be there in a bit,” John replied skeptically. Root sat up and took the phone, ending the call, then bent to put it on the ground beside the bed. She sat back again.

“Boys always ruin the fun,” Root said with a little pouty smile, giving Shaw her best doe eyes. Shaw looked mad, of course, but Root could see the little smile on her face. Root teased, “Careful, I might think you’re actually enjoying this.”

Shaw squirmed a little, and Root could see that she was shivering again. She moved back to her position at Shaw’s underwear and started to pull them down. Shaw lifted herself up a little to allow it, but gave a stern look.

“I’m not going to be the only one naked,” She said, her voice low and dark, facial expression shifting into a warning.

“I don’t think you have a say,” Root said playfully, letting the underwear drop to the floor. Shaw started to sit up, her legs trying to wrap around Root’s body, and Root lunged at her, pushing her back with a smirk. Shaw growled in frustration, her legs loosening on Root’s waist.

Root took her time, barely touching Shaw’s shivering body, as she positioned herself above her. Shaw’s eyes were black, brows furrowed with anger. She took a deep breath, expanding her ribcage as much as possible, and Root could tell it was an attempt to get her bare chest to touch Root’s shirt. She smirked and used one long, freshly painted, dark fingernail to dig an imaginary line from the tense tendons in Shaw’s throat down to her chest, missing Shaw’s erect nipple. The muscles in Shaw’s jaw flexed as she clenched her teeth together. Root clawed her nail back up, faster this time, directly to the hard flesh, and Shaw's head tilted back the smallest amount. Root pinched hard and watched pain and pleasure on Shaw’s face, her teeth biting so hard on her lip that it was white, but the corners of her mouth turned up just enough that Root knew she was doing her job perfectly.

Root sat back, doing the same to Shaw’s other nipple. Shaw’s breath was quickening, and Root loved how powerful this made her feel, one hand on each of Shaw’s perfect, tan breasts. Shaw grunted and Root could feel the shorter woman’s hips moving between her legs, searching for friction. Root lifted herself up and saw Shaw’s thighs were pressed together hard. Root released Shaw’s breasts and forced Shaw’s legs apart with her knee. Shaw immediately ground up into Root’s thigh, exhaling a little groan of pleasure when she connected with Root’s jeans.

Leaning over again, Root put one hand under Shaw’s head and grabbed a fistful of lovely dark hair, wrenching the pony tail to pull Shaw’s head to the side, her neck exposed. Root sank her teeth into Shaw’s throat, enjoying the shuddering sigh she was rewarded with.

Root licked the spot she’d just traumatized, and tasted the salty residue of sweat from Shaw’s workout. She raked her other hand’s fingernails down Shaw’s chest, digging them into her skin with enough pressure that she could feel each rib under the firm muscles, then the dip at the bottom of Shaw’s ribcage. She moved her weight onto Shaw’s stomach, the heel of her hand pushing deep into Shaw’s abdomen, and she released the vice of her teeth from Shaw’s neck to look at her face, eyes half-closed in discomfort as she tried to flex her abs to keep Root’s hand from boring into her organs. Shaw’s breathing was short with the exertion it was taking to try to prevent the pain in her stomach, and Root knew before it happened that Shaw was going to pull her hands out from under the pillow and try to gain control.

Shaw had barely moved when Root removed her hand from her hair and grabbed one wrist in a fierce grip. She removed her other hand from Shaw’s stomach and reached for the remaining free hand, which was already grabbing for Root’s ass, pulling Root closer and arching into her. Root grabbed that hand too, laying her weight on top of Shaw as she pinned both of the ex-assassin’s hands above her head again, gripping hard with her thumb and pointer finger on either side of the joint where Shaw’s hand met her wrist.

She bit hard on Shaw’s earlobe.

“No touching,” Root purred into Shaw’s ear, smiling wide. She lifted her head just enough to look directly into Shaw’s black eyes, “Unless… did you want to ask me for something?”

The enraged expression on Shaw’s face said she understood that Root wanted her to beg now, and she wasn’t going to. She gave a short shake of her head.

“No,” Shaw croaked. She sounded hoarse.

“Then let’s keep your hands up here,” Root said playfully, sitting up and scraping her hands from Shaw’s wrists down the length of Shaw’s arms. Root got up from the bed then, and she could see the confused look on Shaw’s face as she smirked down at her. Shaw crossed her ankles, pressing her thighs together as she grit her teeth.

Root methodically put her hair up in a pony tail, watching as Shaw’s eyes glued to her stomach when her shirt rode up. Then Root slowly unbuckled her black leather belt. She could tell that Shaw’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what Root was planning. Root let her belt dangle from one hand as it fell free of the loops in her jeans, then she slid it through her hands. Shaw’s head lifted a little, looking nervous as the belt buckle clicked and then Root snapped the leather between her hands.

“There’s a trick I learned that I think you’ll like,” Root said.

Shaw fidgeted when Root walked towards her, but then looked curious and confused again when Root inserted the belt through the buckle, tightening it almost all the way to form a little loop. It didn’t take her long to understand when Root put one hand out, asking for Shaw’s. Shaw swallowed hard and then extended her hand.

“Well, maybe not _like_ ,” Root continued impishly. Shaw watched the black leather tighten around her wrist. Root then gestured for the other hand, a broad smile still on her face. Shaw slowly extended her free hand, and Root wrapped the belt in a loop around this wrist as well and slid the end through the buckle again, creating a sort of figure eight. She jerked on the end of the belt hard, tightening the rings around Shaw’s hands.

“It’s no zip tie, but it’ll do in a pinch,” Root said, her tone still as light and good-natured as could be as she looped the belt around Shaw’s wrists again and through the fastener, then around to the buckle, and around once more, tucking the last bit of leather into the fastener again. She pushed Shaw’s hands away from her, releasing them to let them fall above her head. She could see that Shaw was already trying to wriggle her way out of them, testing the strength. She stepped to Shaw’s head and grabbed the belt, tightening it again roughly. She put on her best helpless face, “Like I said, they’re not zip ties. You’re going to ruin my fun if you get out. Think of it as… a reminder not to move. Assuming you do want me to keep going.”

Shaw sighed and let her hands fall against the pillow, and Root stepped away again. She put her hands on Shaw’s legs at her knees and ran them up the strong brown thighs. Shaw parted her legs with an almost hopeful expression on her face. Root used her nails on Shaw’s thighs, sharply digging into her, and sat down between them. She bent and kissed the top of Shaw’s inner thigh, mere inches from where Shaw wanted her most, then turned and bit the same place on the other leg. She could smell Shaw; could feel the goosebumps under her lips. Shaw writhed under her and she dug her nails in deeper, letting her lips brush their way towards Shaw’s knee, the opposite of what Shaw wanted.

“Root,” Shaw growled. Root rested her chin on Shaw’s knee.

“Hmm?” She replied, smiling down at Shaw. Shaw grunted and grabbed her own hair in her bound hands, covering her face with her forearms in frustration. Root lightly traced circles on Shaw’s hip with her finger tips. “You just have to say the word, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Shaw was obviously not quite ready to ask for what she wanted, so Root took one hand from her hip, moving it to her inner thigh instead. Her nails brushed, feather light, up Shaw’s inner thigh, and she let the slightest contact occur against Shaw’s body. Shaw gave a shuddering breath. Root tightened her grip on Shaw’s hip, and slid herself down to bite Shaw’s inner thigh again, sucking and biting the smooth flesh so close but so far away from where her fingers had just barely grazed.

“Root,” Shaw repeated. It was a delight to hear how the name came out strangled. The sound was pleading.

Root moved the hand from Shaw’s hip up to her breast, kneading roughly, rolling the nipple between her fingers tightly. Root’s mouth shifted, even closer to Shaw’s dark hair now than she had been before, and she could feel Shaw’s leg muscles clenching so tight under her mouth that she could have been a statue if it weren’t for the heat coming off of her and the short, shallow breaths from her parted lips. Root let her fingers brush over Shaw again and Shaw’s hips tried to push towards her hand. Root pulled away.

“Sameen, what did I tell you about moving?” Root scolded. She was surprised at how low her own voice sounded, the cheerful tone not quite as bright as usual.

“Please,” Shaw grunted, her face still covered by her arms. Root smiled and moved to hover over Shaw’s face.

“I didn’t catch that. You should really look at people when you talk to them,” Root teased. Shaw moved her hands out of the way of her face, her arms tucked to her chest. With her hands bound, it made it look even more like she was begging, or praying.

“Please, Root,” Shaw growled. Root could see the desperation in Shaw’s eyes, raw desire and anger in the black dilated pupils. Root kissed Shaw, biting down on the lip that had split, and one hand went between Shaw’s legs, so slick and ready. Shaw groaned a little against Root’s mouth as she was penetrated by Root’s long slim fingers, the heel of her hand pushing against Shaw.

Shaw grabbed Root’s shirt in her bound hands when Root tried to move away. Her lips slightly parted, she lifted her head up to recapture Root’s lips. Root let Shaw have her way, thrusting deeper with each push of her hand, but slow. Too slow. Shaw bucked into her, trying frantically to get more of Root, and Root only pulled her hand out completely in response, pinning Shaw’s pelvis to the cot with the heel of her hand. A tiny little sound came from Shaw’s throat- the briefest whine, and she pressed her forehead against Root’s.

“Please,” Shaw gasped a whisper this time. Root pulled her head back to look at Shaw’s face but Shaw had closed her eyes, looking both embarrassed and furious. Root smiled and pushed Shaw’s hands up above her head again, kissing her once, crushing her lips against her teeth. Then Root moved down, her head back at Shaw’s hips, and breathed against Shaw’s exposed center, watching as Shaw bit her own arm to keep from breaking Root’s rules. Root put one of Shaw’s legs over her shoulder.

Shaw hissed when Root tasted her, and things seemed to move in fast motion. Root had her tongue inside of the beautiful woman, then replaced by her fingers, her mouth still working.

Soon, she knew that Shaw was getting close. And although the thought crossed Root’s mind that she could back off, make this last longer, her hand on Shaw’s stomach could feel how tense the shorter woman was. So instead of teasing her, Root pushed harder, licked more adeptly, dug her finger nails of her free hand into Shaw’s ass, and the leg over her shoulder bent around her head as Shaw gasped and was finally allowed to grind into Root, finally allowed to come. Root could feel Shaw’s other foot’s toes stretch against her leg through her jeans, then curl against the taller woman as her orgasm crashed on her like a tidal wave, growling and panting as she shook under Root’s hands and mouth.

After Shaw’s muscles had stopped spasming out of her control, Root looked up at her. She was still breathing heavily, her chest expanding and contracting with each deep breath. She had her arms over her flushed face, and Root wiped her mouth before climbing back over Shaw’s naked body, still dressed, her jeans riding low around her hips.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days maybe they'll get more than an hour or two to themselves! Don't give up hope!
> 
> Thanks again for taking the time to read this and leave comments.

After Shaw’s muscles had stopped spasming out of her control, Root looked up at her. She was still breathing heavily, her chest expanding and contracting with each deep breath. She had her arms over her flushed face, and Root wiped her mouth before climbing back over Shaw’s naked body, still dressed, her jeans riding low around her hips.

“Take off your pants,” Shaw murmured, still catching her breath. Root kissed her exposed tricep and saw that where Shaw had been biting her arm, there was a bruise forming. Root kissed that spot too, and Shaw’s arm twitched at the contact, like it was tender even to that light touch. Her hands were still bound by the leather belt, but Shaw struggled against it, her breath coming in little pants again as she twisted her hands. Root watched her, knowing full well that Shaw would get out of the belt just fine. Shaw did, and let it drop to the floor with a clatter, then groped at Root’s jeans, turning onto her side to face the taller woman.

“John’s coming soon,” Root said, amused. Of course she wanted to be touched by Shaw, but she didn’t really want to risk being walked in on. Shaw tiredly put a hand on Root’s cheek and rested her forehead against the taller woman’s.

“You deserve some reciprocation,” Shaw grumbled, her eyes closed. Root smiled.

“Is that supposed to make me worried?” Root asked lightly. Shaw opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow.

“If that’s how you want it,” Shaw said with a smug expression, her voice almost as gravely as John’s. Root felt warmth spreading in her chest and her smile widened. Shaw took a deep breath, sighing and letting her eyes fall shut again, relaxed.

Root put her arm around Shaw’s bare shoulders and pulled her close. A shiver ran down Shaw’s spine as she pushed herself to Root’s chest, one hand going to the dip of Root’s waist, and she put one leg over Root’s hip, hooking it and pulling herself closer, so their legs were entwined.

The warmth inside Root grew. It was the feeling of her chest expanding, inflating with pleasure, and it was becoming more familiar. And it was not just sexual arousal, Root recognized. There _was_ that, of course. How could there _not_ be when Sameen was still recovering from an orgasm in her arms? But that wasn’t all this was. This wasn’t heat between her legs and a racing heart, this was… different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Or didn’t want to. She made a mental note of what had been said and done to make her feel this way so she could mull it over later. For the time being, she wanted to let herself just enjoy how comfortable she was, gently stroking Shaw’s head, her leg between Shaw’s.

“John really _is_ going to be back soon,” Root said softly. She was more surprised than annoyed that her voice wasn’t as playful as she had intended for it to be. Instead, it sounded like an attempt to soothe Shaw.

“I just need a minute,” Shaw mumbled. Root brushed loose hair from Shaw’s face and felt a swell of affection overcome her when Shaw opened her eyes a little and gave a tiny smirk, one eyebrow raising a little again.

“You were right- I do like that trick,” Shaw said. Root looked at her, confused, until Shaw continued. “With the belt.”

Root grinned.

“I thought you might,” she said, her nose wrinkling mischievously. Shaw exhaled a laugh and kissed Root. When she looked away again, Root could see tenderness in Shaw’s eyes that she tried to hide by running her hand through her hair. Root noticed how red Shaw’s wrist was, with deep marks rubbed in a ring from straining against the leather. Root took hold of Shaw’s hand and softly kissed the inside of her wrist.

“We should get up,” Root told her apologetically. Shaw groaned and sat up on the edge of the bed, slouching forwards.

“Boys really do ruin the fun,” Shaw murmured, frustration in her voice. Root sat up, putting her hands on Shaw’s bare back, running them down her arms as she swung her legs around to sit with one on either side of Shaw’s body, her chest against Shaw’s back. She kissed Shaw’s shoulder.

“I know,” she said, her lips still gently brushing against Shaw’s skin, arms wrapping around her waist and hugging them together. Shaw crossed her arms over Root’s, her hands on Root’s elbows on either side of her. The gentle caress made Root take a quavering deep breath. She wanted so much to lay back down and be able to just look at the woman clutched against her.

But Shaw stood up abruptly, because Bear had just gotten up and started whining, trotting towards the stairwell with his ears up and tail wagging. She hurriedly grabbed her sports bra and shorts, pulling the bra on while she looked around for her underwear. Root stood up to look around for them but didn’t see them. Shaw gave a little shake of her head, irritated as she pulled her shorts on without them, then took her tank top from Root’s outstretched hand and wrenched it over her head, dabbing at her split lip with the back of her hand.

Root closed the distance between them and took Shaw’s head in her hands. She quickly wiped the remainder of her lipstick from Shaw’s mouth with the pad of her thumb, watching Shaw wince a little when she pressed the split in her lip, then turned and walked hurriedly towards the subway car, rubbing at her own mouth. Reese rounded the corner at the bottom of the steps before she’d made it to Finch’s desk, but he didn’t notice their hurrying around because Bear was circling his knees, sniffing with excitement at the plastic bag dangling from one of Reese’s hands.

When Reese shooed Bear away, the dog ran off and picked up the PVC pipe, dragging it back towards Reese gleefully.

“I brought sandwiches,” Reese said as Shaw approached him, retying her hair up into a fresh pony tail. “What happened to your arm?”

Shaw followed his eyes to the raw bruise on her upper arm and dropped her hands to her sides quickly, giving him an annoyed shrug.

“Must have hit it on something,” she said, dismissive. Reese’s eyes narrowed as they traveled to the evidence that Shaw’s wrists had been bound, then up to her face. She pulled her wounded lip into her mouth and raised her eyebrows, as if that would keep him from seeing the split.

“What happened to you?” he asked with concern, stepping a little closer to get a better look at her. Shaw stepped back as casually as she could.

“You look…” Reese started, but paused when he saw the warning on Shaw’s face. He shook his head thoughtfully, a little frown forming when he finally chose the words to describe her, “…like you’ve had a rough day.”

Root smiled at John’s choice of words and walked out of the subway car reapplying her lipstick, as if she’d just finished something on the computer and was casually coming to see what they were up to.

“You could say that,” Root said playfully, rubbing her lips together and pocketing the lipstick. Shaw gave her a seething look. Root wasn’t surprised that Shaw wanted things kept discreet, and decided to play this off like it was just the usual flirting. With an extra dose of violence.

“Sometimes you have to use force to get people to…” Root paused, looking for the best way to phrase her next words, a grin on her face as she eyed Shaw, who was looking up at her with dark eyes. “Well, to get them to do what you say.”

John raised his eyebrows and followed Root’s eyes to Shaw. Root could almost feel the gears in his mind working to figure out what exactly had happened, and was glad that the team was made up of people who were habitually less than forthcoming; John didn’t look like he was going to ask any further questions. This was one of the games Root liked to play with herself- seeing how little she could say to reveal the whole story without actually revealing anything at all.

“I’d have gotten you something to eat too, but Shaw didn’t say you were here,” John said, walking between them towards the subway. Root smirked at Shaw behind Reese’s back and got an annoyed twitch of the mouth in response. Root smiled wider, letting her teeth show, bright white between her red lips, knowing that the twitch was a suppressed grin.

Reese put the plastic bag on Finch’s desk, pulling out a long sandwich wrapped in paper and tossing it to Shaw. She unwrapped it and took a bite without looking at what was between the thick pieces of bread, sitting down heavily on one of the seats mounted inside the car. Root sat down beside her, her knee touching Shaw’s.

When she looked over at Shaw slyly, she watched Shaw’s eyes open wider, her eyebrows raising on her forehead as her jaw stilled, mouth still full of food. This wasn’t quite the reaction Root was expecting, but she didn’t know why Shaw was giving her that look until the shorter woman motioned with her head at Root’s lap.

Root followed her gaze and saw the wet spot on the thigh of her pants leg. From Shaw. She pulled her leg up to her chest right as John turned, leaning against the desk as he took the first bite of his sandwich.

“Any idea when Harold will be back?” Reese asked. Shaw was looking at her sandwich disappointedly, and Root was tracing the edge of the spot on her pants with one painted nail. Shaw shrugged.

“He just said you might get back first,” Shaw said through her mouth full of food. “Where did you _get_ these? Is this even real meat?”

John was annoyed by this question, and smirked ingenuously.

“If you told me what you wanted, that would make this a lot easier,” Reese said. Bear came and sat by John’s feet, begging for food.

“You see, Sameen? All you have to do is ask,” Root said gleefully, tilting her head to look at Shaw. Shaw glared at her. John and Bear were having a stare-down of their own, and Bear licked at his mouth hopefully until John relented and gave him some of the deli meat from his sandwich.

“Subtle,” Shaw grumbled to Root while Reese was distracted. Root smirked, pleased with herself.

“I’m sorry that I’m late, I had to choose a circuitous route to get back,” Harold said, entering and eyeing the bag on his desk. He picked it up passive aggressively and put it on a nearby seat. Bear immediately went to the bag and started nosing at it.

“Pfui,” John commanded, and Bear pulled his face away from the bag immediately, looking over his shoulder at John, who shook his head.

“I’m fairly sure that I was being followed,” Finch said, his voice carefully steady as he removed some small containers of fruit salad from the bag, eyeing the aging fruit before turning and handing one to Shaw.

“Samaritan?” Shaw asked, swallowing hard to get a large bite of sandwich down and reaching out to take the fruit from him. Bear turned at her voice and came over, putting his head on her thigh.

“Yes, I believe so,” Harold said, and then paused when he got a look at her wrist. His eyes immediately went to Root. “I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to worry about you two fighting all the time.”

Shaw avoided his eyes, becoming extremely interested in petting Bear’s head. Root smiled up at Finch.

“Oh Harold, you know how it is. Girls will be girls,” she said sarcastically, leaning playfully into Shaw’s space. Finch was not impressed, and Shaw shooed Bear and took another bite of her sandwich, pretending she hadn’t heard or noticed that Root’s arm was pressing against hers.

Bear went to Root next, putting his head between her legs. Root tried to push him away but he wouldn’t stop, so she put her legs down to keep his head out of her crotch. He sniffed at the wet patch on her leg with interest and she pushed at his head again, but he simply snuffled and rested his chin on her knee. Root put a hand on his head, and he sat down, his head still on her thigh, looking up at her with eyes that were too smart.

Finch got his own sandwich out of the bag and unwrapped it. When he turned back to Shaw with a plastic fork, she had already opened the fruit salad and was popping a dripping piece of cantaloupe into her mouth with her fingers. He looked annoyed as he turned back to the bag, and Shaw smirked as she chewed. He held a napkin out behind him without looking at her again, and she ignored it until he let his hand drop to his side.

“I didn’t know you two were so close,” Reese said, opening his own fruit and nodding at Bear and Root. Shaw glanced over and saw exactly where the dog’s head was. She raised her eyebrows and took another huge bite of her sandwich, almost finishing it, just to give herself something to do. Root watched her stuff it into her mouth. John continued, looking thoughtful. “You’re not even eating.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Root teased. John ignored her and kept eating. Shaw shoved the last bite of sandwich into her mouth and started eating the fruit like popcorn, one piece at a time. Root watched the juice running down Shaw’s hand, to her forearm. It was simultaneously gross and cute when Shaw swiped indelicately at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Seriously, this food is terrible,” Shaw complained through a mouthful of honeydew, slouching in her seat. She chucked her trash across the car into the trash can and Finch gave her an annoyed look but didn’t reply.

“Yeah, you’ve made your opinion very clear,” John replied. Shaw swallowed the large mouthful of food.

“I should have asked for a steak,” Shaw mumbled, looking tired now that she had scarfed down all of the food she’d been given.

“You didn’t,” John said, clearly losing his patience.

“Yeah, I know,” Shaw said, getting annoyed back. Root bumped her knee against Shaw’s playfully.

“She was busy when you called,” Root interjected, smirking. Shaw wouldn’t look at her, just stared at John with fury written all over her face. Root couldn’t help herself, even if the next statement wasn’t technically true. With a sarcastic frown, she said, “It wasn’t a great time to chat- she was a little _tied up_.”

John smirked.

“You don’t usually do so poorly in a fight, Shaw. You losing your touch?” He asked teasingly. It was clear that he thought the wounds on Shaw were from an argument. Shaw’s tongue probed at her lip for a second, then she stood up and left without another word. Bear followed her, whining as he nudged his head under her hand.

“Looks like Bear drooled on you,” John said, nodding at Root’s lap. Root tried to keep her smile from getting bigger as she looked down at the spot on her leg.

“Guess he did,” Root said. Shaw walked towards the bathroom with her new towel over her shoulder and soap products in her hands.

“She already had a towel,” Finch said, confused.

“You gave her a hand towel. This is a bath towel. There’s a difference,” Root said lightheartedly. The door to the bathroom slammed shut behind Shaw and they heard the water start to run.

As soon as the water started to run Finch turned to Root and John with a serious look on his face.

“So you think it was Samaritan following you, not people getting revenge for our latest save?” John asked. Finch looked away, giving a short nod of his head.

“We have to be careful. Has the Machine said anything? Given any instructions?” Finch asked.

“I told you, She _can’t_ talk to me much. But She knew that Shaw had to stay down here, and She’s doing her best to help us,” Root said. “In the mean time, I think that all we can do is try to stay quiet.”

“If we stop showing up to work, that’s going to raise red flags,” John said, voice gravelly. Root smiled tightly.

“I know. So we keep going to work, we keep doing what we’re doing, but don’t get noticed. Don’t stand out. I can keep Shaw down here when I don’t have an identity, but if she knows that something is up, she’s going to want to get out there and help,” Root said, her voice gaining that anxious edge that it did whenever she spoke about the war that was upon them.

“We can’t keep her in the dark forever,” John said.

“She’s already bouncing off the walls down here,” Finch said. Root stood up, her eyes bright.

“I will lock her up if I have to, Shaw is not leaving here until it’s safe,” Root said. “If they get to her-”

“They won’t,” John murmured, frowning.

“We already got split up once. We can’t let Samaritan force us apart again,” Root said, her voice rising, and she could feel tears pricking in her eyes. “None of us will survive, not Shaw, not you two, none of us. And neither will She.”

All of them were quiet, the weight of Root’s words sinking in. After a long pause, there were vibrations in Harold’s pocket. He pulled his phone out.

“We have a new number,” Finch said. Root closed her eyes against the tears that were forming. Finch moved to his desk and started typing. Root pulled her lip into her mouth and faced away from the screen. “Mr. Reese, I’ll let you know once I have something to pass on. And…”

Root knew that he wanted her to look at him but she couldn’t. He cleared his throat a little.

“Root?” He said solemnly. She turned her head to acknowledge him, feeling a sinking feeling in her stomach because Harold didn’t ever use the name she asked him to. And here he was doing it, and that didn’t mean anything good. “As long as you’re not hearing anything from the Machine, could I trouble you to assist us?”

Root nodded. She turned around fully then, looking at the screen. As soon as she saw the address that Harold was looking up, She whispered in her ear. Just one word. ‘ _Tonight_ ’.

“I need to go there,” she said, her eyes fixed on the address.

“Any idea what the job is?” John asked.

“No,” Root said, solemnly gathering her things.

“Do you want me to come?” John asked.

“No,” Root said off-handedly. John looked at the ceiling. “But I have a feeling I’ll see you tomorrow.”

John nodded once, and Root smiled and pat Bear on the head before starting to head to the stairs. She paused.

“I don’t suppose I could borrow a gun?” She asked, turning. “I have a feeling things might get messy.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, writing a plot-heavy chapter instead of just a relationship-y one! Surprisingly, I think that I might be on a vaguely similar path to the one the writers are on. Not _exactly_ the same, of course, but more than I'd have expected. Get at me, POI writers; I'm looking for a job! :P
> 
> Also, there was a comment about the 'relationship' I'm writing between Shaw and Root looking a lot like domestic abuse. I hope that you guys don't think I'm romanticizing victimization, and I'd like to try to explain myself a little.
> 
> These two characters could definitely use some therapy, but the violence between them is by and large consensual (hear me out). They both _like_ hurting and being hurt, because maybe they're wired wrong, or haven't fully learned how to interact with people. They like being in control, and fighting to keep that control. That was made pretty clear from the first time Root and Shaw met. Yes, Shaw is being petulant and angry right now in my story, because she's trapped and lord knows Shaw hates that. For her, that means violence. But it's significant that she's letting Root have some control over her, especially when she's in the subway station and has control over literally nothing. And I hope you can tell that Root enjoys it. Seeks it out, even.
> 
> Is that fucked up? 100%. But I wouldn't call it domestic violence, per se. It's a pair of emotionally-stunted people experiencing feelings they don't know what to do with, and putting those feelings in a context that they understand and enjoy. Control via violence. They both have already improved so much in terms of not killing people right and left, but the deeply-ingrained emotional problems they've both got are still there, and in a situation like this, where Shaw is stuck, those emotional problems are going to be very obvious. Give it time.
> 
> You should expect to see growth- here and in the show itself, I think. They're going to have to learn the difference between a handshake and a fist.

Root didn’t have a hard time figuring out who she was supposed to be watching, although she didn’t hear anything more from Her. Not even when she stood outside the building across the street from their number. She’d been doing this long enough that it wasn’t a problem; it didn’t take help from Her to catch the glint of headlights on the sniper rifle in one of the windows, but Root had a feeling that it was going to be a long, lonely night.

There was no hint inside the building as to which apartment the gunman was sitting in, but Root knew which floor to go to, so she started by climbing the stairs purposefully. Once she was on the third floor she waited a minute, trying to choose between apartment thirty five and thirty six.

From thirty five, a woman exited, chattering animatedly on her cellphone about a guy that she was supposed to be meeting up with. Root pretended to be searching for her keys while the woman walked down the hall in her high heels and skintight pleather leggings. After the door to the elevator had closed, Root picked the lock of the apartment the woman had left from, the 9mm John had let her borrow weighing heavy in her hand. It was immediately obvious that the partier was not involved with sniper rifles, so Root silently closed the apartment door again.

So it was apartment thirty six. Root did not hesitate, going to the door and picking the lock as quietly as she could.

As soon as she started to open the door, it swung inward hard and a punch was thrown at her head. She ducked but was still clipped on her temple by the fist, her head bouncing backwards into the doorframe before she regained her balance and shoved the barrel of her gun into the face of her assailant.

There was already a gun pointed back at her from the second man in the room, the one by the window with the sniper rifle and, apparently, a pistol. Root’s head was spinning, and the man who’d punched her drew a pistol with a silencer attached.

Quickly, she grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm, using his silenced weapon to shoot the second man in the knees, then hit him in the neck with the butt of her own gun so he crumpled. Root crossed unsteadily to the man at the window whose kneecap had been shot and pulled the gun from his hand. She shoved him from the chair and knocked him out as well, then leaned against the wall, reaching blindly for the chair the sniper had been sitting it. She couldn’t reach it, so she turned, letting the side of her head press against the wall. It felt cool against her forehead, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself for a moment.

After a minute she could tell she wasn’t going to pass out, and because she’d ducked the contact hadn’t been as direct as it would have been otherwise, so she was fairly sure she would get away with bruising but no black eye or fractured jaw.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

It hurt like hell.

The back of her head where she’d hit the doorframe was throbbing. She touched the spot gingerly and then gently prodded at her temple, then walked carefully to the kitchenette. She wrapped some ice in a dishtowel towel and pressed it against her temple as she went back to the seat by the window, looking through the scope of the sniper rifle to the apartment across the street, where their number was sitting at his laptop in the dark.

She settled in to watch for other possible threats, pulling the Russian semi-automatic sniper rifle back a little so that lights from down below couldn’t reflect off the metal and give her position away.

She’d spent the rest of the night there, only leaving her position twice. First, just long enough to get more ice, alternating between her temple and the back of her head. Then, she’d drug the men into the elevator for their friends to find. The groaning as they started to come around was tedious. Their pockets were empty but for some ammo, which she’d taken. She wasn’t sure who they were, or why they were there. The Machine was silent.

Eventually their number had fallen asleep on the couch, the blue light of the laptop shining on his sleeping face until his computer went to sleep as well, and the room was completely dark.

Now the sun was just beginning to make the streets of New York glow, and she watched through the sniper’s scope as John showed up outside the number’s apartment building. She flicked on her earpiece.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up, John,” she said playfully, and watched Reese look around himself three stories below her.

“Have you been here all night?” he asked.

“Fifth window from the east end of the building across the street from you. Third floor,” she said, and watched as Reese looked around and found her window.

“Any problems?” he asked, looking where she was seated. She knew he couldn’t see her- she had no lights on in the room and with the street lights flipping off there was nothing illuminating her. But Reese wouldn’t let that stop him from pretending they were face to face having a conversation.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said, prodding at the lump on the back of her head. “No one has come or gone for hours. But I imagine our man will need to go to work sooner or later.”

“I’ll take it from here. I’m tailing him to work, we’ll see what turns up,” he said. Root looked across at the number’s apartment, where the light in the living room had just turned on.

“He’s just waking up. If you need somewhere to keep an eye on him, I’d recommend thirty six. There’s already a sniper set up,” Root said, moving away from the window and picking up the SIG Pro pistol she’d taken from Reese at the subway station, wondering if she should take the pistol with the silencer as well.

She decided she might as well and tucked John’s pistol into the waistband of her jeans, which sagged with the weight of the gun. She’d forgotten her belt at the subway station, and the memory of Shaw biting her own arm, her hands bound above her head, made Root smile a little to herself despite her nagging headache.

She opened the closet and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt from a hook. It was the only thing there, so it would have to do. She paused to pull it over her head, then left the apartment with the silenced pistol and knelt by the welcome mat. To John, she said, “Key’s under the mat.”

With that, Root headed down the stairs, her gun drawn at her side just in case. When she got to the lobby there were police officers just pulling up with lights flashing, entering purposefully, stopping everyone from leaving. There were five or six residents standing in the lobby anxiously. Root touched her ear piece again.

“On second thought, you might want to wait until things here cool down,” Root said playfully, turning back into the stairwell. She could hear John sigh. “I’m going to need an alternate route out of here.”

“Just a moment,” Finch’s voice intruded.

“Harriet the spy, are you eavesdropping?” Root asked good-naturedly. Finch didn’t respond to her comment.

“Alright, at the bottom of the stairwell, there should be a service door. If it’s open, you should be able to exit through the superintendent’s apartment to the alley,” Finch said after a beat. Before he had finished speaking, Root had tried the door and found it locked. With the butt of the handgun she smashed the doorknob and bullied the door open. “It would be best if you didn’t make so much noise. You’re attracting attention.”

“Those cops look like they mean business, Root,” it was Shaw’s voice that Root was hearing now.

“Aren’t you supposed to be letting Finch work?” Root asked, trying to keep her tone light despite the adrenaline that was beginning to pump through her veins.

“I would if you weren’t getting the whole NYPD’s attention. One of them heard the noise, he’s headed your way,” Shaw said, and even through the ear piece Root could tell that Shaw was more worried than mad. Root entered the disheveled apartment. There were dirty dishes stacked on the counter in the kitchenette and a pile of unfolded clothes beside the bed.

“You worried about me, Sameen?” Root asked with a smirk.

“Miss Groves, you need to hurry,” Finch said, his voice urgent. Then, panicked, he added, “Mr. Reese, what are you doing?”

“Detective Riley, homicide,” John’s voice was back. Root couldn’t hear if someone was replying to him. “I’ll check it out, you boys can go.”

Root tried the back door to the apartment only to find it locked.

“Another locked door,” she said. She turned to the window above the sofa and tried that as well. It was painted shut. “Window won’t budge either. I’m breaking it.”

“No, let John intervene,” Finch said sternly.

“It’s too late for that. Go, now,” Shaw commanded. And she was right. It _was_ too late for John to stop the cop from following the noises Root had made.

“Freeze! Hands up!” The officer yelled. Root smashed the butt of the 9mm into the glass, shattering it, and turned to smile at the young guy who looked like he probably didn’t even shave yet. He had his gun drawn, but his eyes were wide, like he hadn’t actually expected to _find_ something when he followed the crashing sound in the stairwell.

Root pointed her gun back at him, still smiling as she swung her legs over the sill. He fired a shot before she dropped to the ground. Root had intended to run immediately, but his shot had grazed her left hip and she’d fallen, breaking her fall in the scattered shards of glass with her gun hand.

He reached the window and fired four more shots.

Three missed.

One did not.

Root gave a strangled yelp.

“Root, what happened?” Shaw was loud in her ear, anxiety clear in her raised voice. It felt like her left elbow had been torn open.

“Miss Groves, are you alright? We can’t see the alley.” Finch’s voice was higher than Shaw’s, panicked and shrill. But she didn’t have time to stop, and she was gritting her teeth so hard that she couldn’t speak.

She rounded the corner onto the street and pulled the hood of the over-sized sweatshirt over her head with her right hand, her left tucked into the pocket to hide the gun and hopefully, the wound in her arm. Without looking back, Root darted into the steady flow of foot-traffic on the sidewalk.

“Help Reese. I’m out,” Root said, and before anyone could protest, she had turned off the earpiece and was speed walking from the scene, the gun held tight in her burning right hand in the large front pocket of the sweatshirt, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. She felt hot liquid on her left forearm, and swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

The crosswalk ahead of her changed to ‘Don’t Walk’, and she wondered which direction she should turn. She was afraid to look back in case the young cop was still following her, and right when she was about to turn left and cross the street, a sign on the building across the street started to flicker, catching her attention.

It usually read ‘ _Right On Time!_ ’ in neon letters, but the words ‘ _On Time_ ’ fluttered for a moment and then went off completely. Then the word ‘ _Right_ ’ began to blink steadily, and Root smiled and turned to the right.

Root walked as quickly as she could, keeping an eye out for more messages from Her. At the next intersection, a pay phone rang across the street and Root walked towards it. As soon as she got close it stopped ringing.

She was being led by the Machine to wherever she needed to be next.

Root followed the hints for a few blocks and then couldn’t find any more. Worried, Root looked around herself, and realized that she’d been paying so much attention to clues and the people around her, as well as the pain radiating from her elbow, that she hadn’t been paying attention to where she was being taken.

She was at Shaw’s alias’ apartment again. Glancing around once, Root made her way inside, and when she didn’t receive any further instructions once she was in the entryway, she headed up the steps to the apartment. Her head felt foggy as her headache raged, and she thought to herself with a smile that she could see what sort of beer or hard alcohol Shaw liked to buy for herself. And if Shaw drank coffee. Any clues about what she could bring the woman trapped in the subway station would be useful.

And then the thought of resting for a bit in Shaw’s bed occurred to her, and that was incredibly appealing. Everything was taking its toll on her. She was exhausted.

When she tried the handle to Shaw’s apartment, she almost didn’t think to be surprised to find that it was unlocked. But she did catch herself before she just strolled inside.

Immediately, she pulled the gun from the hoodie’s pocket, opening the door slowly, not sure what she’d find on the inside.

Shaw’s apartment had been ransacked.

Every drawer in the living room was open, the limited contents thrown onto the floor. The couch cushions had been cut open with a knife and thrown aside, the filling strewn about the living room. Root walked cautiously towards the kitchen.

The cupboards were all open. Root was surprised, and realized quickly that she shouldn’t have been, that there were only a few mismatched forks, spoons, and knives. Shaw had almost nothing in her kitchen. One cutting board, a couple of sharp knives, four matching tumblers, a fifth of a different style, three pint glasses, three plates, one bowl. A fourth plate was shattered in pieces on the floor.

Since there was no one in the kitchen Root moved on to the bedroom. Here, again, clothes were dumped on the floor, the sheets had been torn from the mattress, which had been hacked open like the cushions in the living room. The pillows had been sliced open too. Root put her hand on the ruined pillow case and thought that she should have brought one of them to Shaw.

And now it was too late.

She pulled her hand away from the pillow and saw that she’d left blood behind.

Root felt her boot step on something solid and lifted her foot. It was a small medal that looked vaguely familiar, but Root couldn’t put her finger on where she would have seen it before. It was gold with red accents, with a man’s face, cyrillic letters, a star, and a hammer and sickle. She bent and picked it up, turning it over in her bloody hand, looking for a clue as to why this of all things was an object that Shaw had deemed appropriate to keep. Or maybe it belonged to the intruders. It wasn’t unthinkable that Russians had gotten roped into doing dirty work for Samaritan. The sniper rifle had, after all, been a Russian model. Root put the medal into the pocket of her jeans and was reminded again that she’d left her belt behind at the station. She wondered if she should try to find a belt in Shaw’s closet to make a tourniquet. She wasn’t sure if that would help.

There was only one room left to check. The bathroom.

As soon as she’d pushed the door open, Root knew that there was no one in the apartment anymore. And, as she could have predicted, there were few personal effects in Shaw’s bathroom.

Rubbing alcohol, gauze, medical tape of varying widths and strengths, other bandages, scissors, a scalpel, long thin tweezers. It was practically an ER. Which was perfect. Aside from those things littering the floor, the medicine cabinet held only a toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, and a stack of hair ties. Shaw wasn’t exactly high maintenance.

Root winced and gasped as she tried to pull the hooded sweatshirt off and her wounded arm was jostled and pulled. A harsh sob racked her body as she lifted her arm, tugging the bloody fleece off over her head.

She started to pull off her shirt and had to pause, carefully lowering herself to the ground, grabbing desperately at the sink with her right hand to keep from falling, but her palm was slick with blood and she half-fell against the wall, sliding down to the floor. She struggled with her shirt again and finally took the scissors and cut her shirt off of herself.

The pain from her elbow was radiating up her arm into her shoulder and back, and down into her wrist and hand.

She closed her eyes, screwing them shut and inhaling deeply, slowly, then letting the air out. She needed steady hands.

She opened her eyes again and looked down at her gun hand. There were pieces of glass embedded in her knuckles from catching herself with a closed fist. There was blood on both of her hands. And her other arm, the one that had been shot, didn’t look good. The bullet had not actually hit her elbow. Instead, it was an inch or so above the joint, and it looked as though it hadn’t hit bone, just soft tissue. Root didn’t know if that was good or bad, she just knew that it hurt and that it was bleeding. A lot.

She sterilized the wound, sweating from pain, her head screaming at her, and she almost passed out but knew that if she did, things would only get worse, so she took a couple of slow gulps of air and counted to five in her head, willing herself to relax.

After she’d done what she could, pressing gauze hard against the wound and taping it up tight, she moved on to the hand with glass in it. With the tweezers in her non-dominant hand, she pulled pieces of glass from the cuts, gritting her teeth and gasping. Finally, she picked herself up from the floor and washed her shaky hands, sterilized her knuckles, and taped gauze over them as well, clumsy because her arm hurt and her left hand wasn’t used to fine motor skills.

There was a bottle of codeine at her feet, and she took two immediately.

Root left the bathroom and found a button-up shirt on the floor of the bedroom. It would have to do. She couldn’t bear the thought of pulling another shirt over her head. It was really too short for her, but she was glad that for her size, Shaw didn’t have narrow shoulders. She grabbed Shaw’s black leather jacket as well, figuring she could use it to cover up her wounds when she left.

Root made her way back to the kitchen, leaving the bloody shirt and hoodie behind, and looked for a bottle of anything strong enough to take the edge off of the pain. There was an almost empty bottle of scotch, which Root finished in two large gulps, and some cheap beer in the fridge. Root took two of the bottles, found a bottle opener on the ground, and went back to the living room, setting the single metal folding chair upright next to the card table that completed what Shaw obviously would have called her dining room set.

Root grunted as she sat down, and opened one of the beers, holding the bottle between her legs and using her bandaged hand to work the opener. She spilled some beer on her pants, and the cap fell to the ground. Root looked at the splash of beer on her thigh, fading from fizz to a large dark spot. It was only a handful of hours ago that she had been tracing the edge of a similar patch on these jeans courtesy of Shaw.

She felt woozy, sleepy, and she wondered if she could have a concussion as she drank a few more gulps of the beer, grimacing when she hiccuped once against the carbonation, sending a sharp pain from her elbow outward.

Looking around the living room, Root was glad she’d gotten rid of all of the weapons that Shaw had hidden there. She realized she should get one of the guns, and finished her first beer while slowly heading back to the bathroom to retrieve the gun with the silencer still attached. She left the empty bottle in the sink and went back to the card table, putting the gun down heavily and then fumbling to open the second beer.

She sat there for a while, drinking swigs of beer, and thinking about the neat stacks of clothing that Shaw had on the floor of the subway station. And this was how her apartment had been left. Turned inside out.

She put the beer bottle on the table and flicked the ear piece on, realizing as she did so that it felt like she was moving in slow motion. Like her brain was churning, a bike with a broken chain, and her body was just drifting through the motions belatedly.

“How’s the number doing?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Miss Groves, are you alright?” It was Finch that answered. Root knew that Shaw was probably close by.

“Just peachy. I’m going to have to keep moving soon, I don’t think I’m safe here,” Root said through clenched teeth, picking the beer up again and taking a heavy swig.

“Where is _here_? I can send Mr. Reese-” Finch started, but Root cut him off, shifting to try to find a more comfortable way to sit.

“At a _friend’s_ place. Near the number’s apartment,” Root said, hoping Finch would know what that meant. He didn’t reply, and she was worried he wouldn’t find her. She tried to use her usual casual tone but she had to keep stopping to think about what she was trying to say. Her brain felt fried. “Someone else has been here. But I got rid of all the weapons the last time I was here, so-”

“You’re at Miss Shaw’s apartment? You’re not safe there, you need to keep moving,” Finch said in a panic. “This is Samaritan. The officer, the visitor to Miss Shaw’s apartment- you need to go.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back right now, and,” Root said, but had to stop, a dry sob heaving through her because she hurt, and she was scared, and she felt very much alone. And to make things worse, she felt like she was slipping into unconsciousness. She clenched the bottle hard in her hand, pressing her eyes shut hard and then opening them wide to try to clear her head. “Uh… but…”

“I’m contacting John. He’s on his way, just stay where you are,” she could hear Finch speaking, but it sounded like his voice was on the other side of a wall of water. Her mouth felt dry, and she lifted the bottle again to drink. It took her a few seconds before she realized the beer had slipped from her fingers and was spinning on the floor, a pool of liquid spreading, reaching the sole of her shoe. There was beer soaking into the shirt as well.

“Sam…?” Root said, wanting to speak, but she wasn’t even sure what she was trying to ask. She just wanted to know that Shaw was _there_. If there was a response, she didn’t hear it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Root hurt.

Her head was pounding, her arm was throbbing, her hip and hand were burning, and she felt nauseous. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to lose the cottony feeling. Something wet and cool pressed against her face, and then Bear whined. She opened her eyes a fraction of an inch and took a deep breath. The dog’s nose was right there by her own.

She was in the subway station, on Shaw’s cot. And Shaw was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed, her bare feet propped against the mattress’ frame. Her dark eyes were watching Root, and she looked mad.

Root was relieved to see her there, even though there was no relief in Shaw’s own expression, just anger.

“That was stupid,” Shaw growled at her. Root closed her eyes again and sighed. She felt like she was going to cry and she didn’t want to. It wasn’t something she usually did, and she didn’t want Shaw to get even angrier. “You should know better than to take pain meds and chug alcohol. Especially if you’re sleep deprived. And bleeding.”

Root shrugged and immediately wished she hadn’t, because it made her hurt even worse.

“And you should’ve been putting pressure on that wound in your arm,” Shaw continued, fury boiling in her.

“You should have called as soon as you got away. If someone else had gotten to you before Reese did…” Shaw’s voice trailed off, and Root could tell even with her eyes closed that Shaw had gotten up from her seat. Root opened her eyes to see where Shaw had gone and regretted it when a tear rolled from her eye down to her temple. Shaw was standing beside her now, and had seen that single tear. Root pressed her lips together, feeling childish and small and stupid.

Because Shaw had seen it. The evidence that Root was not strong. Shaw would not respect weakness, emotional or physical, and this was both. Another tear followed the first, and Root closed her eyes again, tilting her head away from Shaw in embarrassment and lifting her good arm to rest it over her eyes.

“Stop,” Shaw said, and the word was full of anger.

Root could feel her face contorting against her will as a sob shook her chest.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Why she was crying. But she couldn’t stop now that she’d started. Her shoulders and chest moved as another jagged sob lurched through her. She bit her lip hard, holding her breath to try to regain control.

“Why are you crying?” Shaw asked. Root wished she would just go away, because every time Shaw spoke and Root heard the anger in her voice she felt more pathetic. More scared. More stupid and lonely.

“Is she alright?” It was Finch’s voice, and Root felt even more humiliated knowing that now she had an audience.

“She’s fine,” Shaw’s fury was clearer than ever when she spoke to Finch. After a beat, she added, acerbic, “Do you mind?”

“Of course. I’ll just… go home. I’m going to take Bear. I can have Mr. Reese or Detective Fusco bring a second cot if-” Finch started.

“Don’t need it. Just go,” Shaw commanded. Finch called Bear to him, and Root thought she might be done crying, taking a quavering breath. She inhaled deeply again, her jerky breathing the only sound she could hear.

“Take this,” Shaw said, very close by and less tense than before. Root uncovered her eyes and struggled to sit up, a little whine escaping from her because moving hurt. Shaw put a hand out for her, but obviously wasn’t sure how to help and let it drop back to her side. Root took the pill from Shaw’s hand, and tried to take the glass but winced, and Shaw pulled it away from her. She let Shaw tip the glass of water for her to take a drink. When she only took a sip, Shaw shook her head. “Drink it all.”

Root did as she was told, and then laid back down gingerly, wincing, unable to look Shaw in the face. She closed her eyes, and took another steadying breath. She was past the worst of it, she thought.

“Sorry,” Root said quietly, hoping that Shaw was still close by. She’d been wrong to think she was done crying. As soon as she’d said the word, another gut-wrenching sob shook her. Like it had been waiting for the opportunity to escape.

“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for,” Shaw’s voice mumbled, much closer than Root had expected. It sounded like Shaw was level with Root now, perhaps kneeling beside the bed. There wasn’t anger, but still quite a bit of annoyance. Root turned her head further away from Shaw’s voice. Her heart ached hearing how frustrated Shaw was. Shaw sighed.

“Stop crying,” Shaw commanded again, and Root wished so much that she could but she couldn’t.

“I- can’t. I’m… I’m _trying_ ,” Root said between little gasps of air.

“Alright. Scoot over,” Shaw grunted. Root rolled onto her right side, facing away from Shaw entirely, curling her body as her crying worsened with the pain. She put her hands, the bandaged one and the one attached to her shot elbow, up to her face, weeping unencumbered into them.

The cot shifted, and there was warmth against Root’s back, followed by a blanket pulled over her. Then Shaw was tucked behind Root. Shaw’s arm looped around her, and Root could feel breath, warm on the back of her neck. It took a moment for Root to notice that it wasn’t just her _own_ breathing that was unsteady.

Then the breathing moved away, and one of Shaw’s hands gently brushed through Root’s hair. Root could tell that Shaw was checking the bump on the back of her head, but the closeness and the contact made Root immediately feel better. Soothed.

Root opened her eyes and turned her head just enough to see that Shaw had herself propped on one elbow, looking down at her with dark eyes that were shining. Root had never seen Shaw quite like this before. Then Shaw blinked twice and cleared her throat, looking away, her eyes clearing to stoicism again.

Root turned her head away again; the disappointment coming in waves off of Shaw hurt worse than her injuries.

“This is a one-time thing,” Shaw growled. Root couldn’t bring herself to look at the shorter woman. Shaw reached around her and wiped at the tears on Root’s face with the pad of her thumb. “And, so you know, you got lucky. The bullet in your arm didn’t do any serious damage. It went through clean. So I didn’t have to dig anything out of your arm. And your hip is fine, just scraped up. You did a pretty good job with the glass in your hand. And I haven’t really checked yet, but I don’t think you have a concussion.”

Shaw fell silent for a few seconds.

“I’m surprised it’s hurting you so much. I thought you were tougher than that,” Shaw’s tone had shifted from irritation to teasing. Root opened her eyes, knowing she probably looked like shit, and made eye contact with Shaw.

“You’re ok,” Shaw told her sincerely. Root’s chest was tight, her heart felt like it was on fire. Her eyes fell from Shaw’s bright eyes to her mouth, the tiniest smile curving at the corners of those pouty lips, the dark split from their last encounter still clear as day. Shaw saw where Root’s eyes had gone, and she leaned forward, kissing the corner of Root’s mouth because that was as much as she could reach from this angle.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Root whispered, her eyes closing again. Shaw’s hand brushed through Root’s hair again, and Root felt herself relaxing. Shaw must have noticed the effect of her action, because she repeated the movement of her hand, again and again, calming Root until she finally gained some control of herself instead of the tenuous grasp from before.

“You said my name,” Shaw said finally, and Root opened her eyes to meet Shaw’s, then looked away, resting her head on its side.

“Yeah,” Root exhaled the word, not sure what else she could say. She had felt like she was losing herself completely, and all she could think to do was ask for Sameen. She didn’t know what to do with that information. She doubted Shaw would want to have to worry about it.

Feelings weren’t exactly Shaw’s style. Or her own. Usually.

Tears pricked at her eyes again. Because Root hated that she _felt_ so much. Feelings about Shaw. Or feelings _for_ Shaw. And feelings would only make Shaw dislike her, which of course made Root have _more_ feelings. Root saw the cycle rounding on itself, setting itself up for exponential loops, and knew she was being an idiot. But knowing she was an idiot didn’t stop the tears from welling up, and a single drop rolled from the corner of her eye to the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t start that again,” Shaw said softly, her voice firm but not angry. There was something else there that Root wasn’t sure of. Shaw blotted the tear away gently with the edge of the sheet and Root looked up at her again. Shaw looked peaceful, almost. Root swallowed hard, and Shaw kissed her shoulder through her shirt. “You’re safe. Ok?”

Root nodded, a tiny nod, looking up at Shaw’s reassuring face. Shaw smiled a little, and Root _did_ feel safe. Then Shaw shifted and started to get up.

“Please,” Root whispered, closing her eyes again so she didn’t have to look at Shaw when she continued. Her chest felt tight with fear as soon as Shaw left her side. “Please stay.”

Shaw’s hand touched Root’s hair again gently. It occurred to Root that it was almost the same gentle affection she often watched Shaw show to Bear.

“I’m not going anywhere. I just don’t want to sleep in these jeans. Figured I should get comfortable,” Shaw said, and Root opened her eyes to see that she was telling the truth. Shaw’s hands went to the fly of her pants and she shoved them down her legs unceremoniously. And even crying in bed, feeling like a baby, Root couldn’t help but notice the little black briefs hugging Shaw’s hips perfectly. Shaw spoke again, and Root looked back to her face. “You want me to help you out of those disgusting pants?”

“I don’t have anything else to wear,” Root mumbled. Shaw raised an eyebrow.

“You seriously concerned about decency?” Shaw asked incredulously. Root looked at the wall as Shaw spoke sarcastically. “I’m gonna get low on clothes eventually, especially with you bleeding on my stuff. You got my shirt pretty good. Almost got my jacket too. Good thing John got there when he did.”

Root knew this was probably not actually the top of Shaw’s list of concerns, but she still felt bad. She wondered if Shaw could see how upset she still felt.

“I actually like that shirt on you. It’s a little small, sure, but form-fitting clothes don’t do you any harm,” Shaw said, her voice like gravel. Root looked up at her, surprised by the little smirk on the face of the shorter woman.

“ _I’m_ supposed to flirt with _you_ ,” Root said, cracking a weak smile. Shaw grinned.

“There you go. Welcome back,” she said, obviously glad that they were getting back on even footing. She nodded at Root’s jeans. “So?”

“You’re awfully eager to get in my pants,” Root said thickly, reaching to the button and zipper herself and flinching when she tried to unfasten them. Shaw pushed her hands away, chuckling as she quickly undid the button and gently pulled the denim away from Root’s sore hip.

“As if you have a problem with that,” Shaw said playfully. Root smiled but gasped in pain a little when she put her arm back on the bed.

“Sorry,” Shaw said hurriedly, her hands disappearing from Root’s waist. Root shook her head.

“No, just um… it’s my arm,” she said, her voice a little shaky.

“Alright, you’re ok,” Shaw said quietly, reassuring. Then her hands were on Root again, and she could feel her pants around her feet, and then they were gone. She realized then that she wasn’t in Shaw’s shirt anymore and looked down at her body.

“Whose shirt is this?” she asked in confusion. Shaw came back up to the head of the bed, folding Root’s dirty pants and her own, and placing them nearby.

“John’s. His undershirt. He didn’t want you hanging around unconscious in just your bra while I patched you up,” Shaw said, clearly amused. “He’s quite the gentleman.”

Shaw turned away, pulling her shirt off over her head and unfastening her bra, then kneeling to find a grey wife beater, pulling it on over her head.

Root watched the muscles in Shaw’s back. The Machine was perfect, but She wasn’t alone in perfection. Humans were beautiful. _Shaw_ was beautiful. Physically, she was perfectly engineered. And while Shaw was illogical and irrational at times, and often impossible to reason with, Root recognized that somehow, these things were perfect as well. Perfect because of the imperfections. Beautiful because of the flaws. Shaw turned back around and raised an eyebrow again.

“You checking me out?” She asked, almost playful. Root smiled and caught sight of the bruise on Shaw’s upper arm when the shorter woman pulled her hair out from the top of the tank top.

“Always,” Root replied, breathing slowly and steadily, trying not to give away how much affection she was holding in her chest. Shaw rolled her eyes and came back to the bed.

“You want to ditch your bra? I can’t stand sleeping in ‘em, personally,” Shaw said. She wasn’t making a pass, she just wanted to make Root comfortable. Root looked thoughtfully at Shaw, who started to fidget. “Look, I really don’t do the whole ‘stay the night’ thing. So I’m sorry if I don’t know the right questions to ask. I just, you know, you’re hurting… And I’m supposed to be the doctor.”

“Is this how the doctor-patient relationship is supposed to go? I’ve been doing it wrong,” Root teased, and tried to reach up under the shirt, behind herself, to unhook her bra one-handed. Needless to say she was not successful. Shaw sighed and stepped over to her, helping her sit up and then pulling the shirt off carefully. She unhooked Root’s bra, crouching behind her, and then slid the straps down Root’s arms. Without stepping in front of her or touching any part of Root’s torso, Shaw helped her put the shirt back on and eased her back into the bed.

Shaw walked over to the fusebox on the wall and shut off the lights. Inside the subway car, Finch’s computers still glowed faintly on their own circuitry, never sleeping. Root could faintly make out Shaw’s silhouette as she approached again, her feet quietly shuffling towards the cot. Root sighed as Shaw got onto the little mattress again and tucked herself against Root’s back.

Lips pressed against the back of her neck and stayed there, gentle and reassuring. For the first time in weeks, Root slept and felt comfortable. Sure, her body was aching, but it was luxurious to stay with Shaw’s bare legs tangling with her own, feeling Shaw’s torso solidly pressed against her back, a kiss pressed into her shoulder. Root felt like she could breathe.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow you guys, thanks for all the positive comments! You’re makin’ me blush. I was really worried that the last chapter would get super mixed reactions and it appears I was wrong! I’m glad you all think my characterization of these two isn’t out of left field. I tried to be careful about how I portrayed them.

Root woke up hours later, the same cottony feeling in her mouth. The lights were still off, and Root could feel the steady inhale and exhale of Shaw’s breathing against her neck, punctuated by the occasional grunting snore. Her arm was stiff when she flexed it, and Shaw’s arm, tucked around Root’s waist, tightened in a hug. Shaw’s face burrowed deeper into Root’s hair, and Root jerked away when Shaw’s forehead pressed into the tender knot on the back of her head courtesy of the doorframe.

Root gently pulled Shaw’s arm from around her waist and sat up, wincing in pain because her back and arms and neck were so tight. Standing up, she used the dim glow of Finch’s computers to make her way to the bathroom.

She fumbled in the dark with the faucet of the old sink, and cupped her unbandaged hand under the running water, bending to take a drink. It was an arduous process, because she was sore and her head was throbbing. She had to pause once, her eyes screwed shut against waves of pain when she moved her arm the wrong way, but after a few seconds she regained her composure and kept drinking.

“You ok?” Shaw’s voice came as a surprise. Root looked up and could barely make out that she was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. Root wiped the water from her chin with the bandage on her knuckles.

“Just thirsty,” Root replied. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shaw said quietly. She pushed off the doorframe. “Let me get you a cup.”

“It’s ok, I’m done,” Root told her. But Shaw was already going back to the cot.

“Want another pain pill? It’s been long enough,” Shaw asked as she returned. Root thought about saying no, but Shaw was already pressing the pill into her hand in the darkness, and Root didn’t see the point in pretending she wasn’t hurting all over. She took the pill and glass from Shaw, filling it with water. “Remember. Lots of water. Don’t want you to get sick to your stomach.”

“Whatever the doctor orders,” Root said, trying to sound like her normal self but unable to hide the pain in her voice. She downed the glass as quickly as she could. Shaw’s hand found Root’s back through the dark, and she pressed her palm against Root’s spine, warm and reassuring through the thin undershirt.

“Back to bed?” Shaw asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Root wished almost desperately that she could see Shaw’s face, but the bathroom was pitch black. Her body shuddered when she took a breath, and she was surprised to find herself fighting against tears again. She was even more surprised when Shaw felt the shake under her hand and turned Root around so they were facing one another, carefully wrapping her arms around Root.

“Hey,” she said soothingly, hugging Root to her chest. Root put her arms around Shaw’s waist and let her head rest against Shaw’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears. When she took a steadying breath, she felt Shaw’s arms tighten. Then, after a long pause, Shaw spoke again, leaning back from Root. “Come on.”

Root let Shaw lead her back to the bed, her arm snug around Root’s waist. Root laid down on her back and pressed her bandaged hand to her eyes to blot away the tears that were clinging to her eyelashes. The cot moved under Shaw’s weight, and then Shaw’s chest felt warm against Root’s side.

They laid still for a long time, Root’s breath evening as she moved past the sensation that she was going to burst into tears again. In the dark, Root’s eyes couldn’t adjust enough to make out Shaw’s features beside her, so she closed them, focusing on breathing through the pain.

A long while later, the cot shifted, and something brushed against Root’s mouth, so light that Root thought she might have imagined it.

“I was scared,” Shaw whispered, and Root could feel the words breathed against her lips. Root didn’t know if Shaw thought she was asleep or if she had just decided now was the time for vulnerability, when they were alone in the station, so dark that Root couldn’t have looked her in the eye if she’d tried. Root didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything at all.

She kept breathing as Shaw settled her head down on Root’s chest.

Eventually, Root fell back to sleep.

\----------

Root woke again, this time feeling much better. The subway station was still dark, but Shaw was no longer in the bed. Root lifted her head quickly, looking around in the dark and seeing that Shaw had the laptop and was sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed again, her bare feet tucked under the blanket, touching Root’s own. The laptop was illuminating her face, her eyes scanning the screen in front of her.

A phone buzzed and Shaw picked it up quickly, typed something, then put it back down. It buzzed again, and Shaw sighed in frustration when she looked at it, then typed again.

“Is everything ok?” Root asked, her voice froggy. Shaw got up and set the laptop on the chair, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Everything’s fine. The boys are just checking on you,” Shaw said, her hand finding Root’s knee. “How’re you feeling?”

“It doesn’t hurt as much now,” Root said, straining to sit up. Shaw’s cold hands tried to help her ease into a sitting position. “What time is it?”

“About 9 AM. You can keep sleeping if you want,” Shaw said. Root shook her head, and realized Shaw probably couldn’t see her.

“No. Can we turn on the lights?” Root asked. Shaw got up quickly and Root could hear her moving away. Then the lights came on, and Root squinted, her head aching dully. Shaw came back, blinking against the light, and sat beside Root on the edge of the bed, pulling one leg up to her chest. Root reached out and put her bandaged hand in the crook of Shaw’s knee, fingers curving around Shaw’s calf. She let her hand drift down to Shaw’s ankle.

“You’re cold,” Root croaked, and coughed to clear her throat.

“Yeah, we could stand to have a heater down here,” Shaw complained. She looked over at Root but wouldn’t maintain eye contact.

“Sameen?” Root said quietly. Shaw looked at her again, pulling her lip into her mouth anxiously. “Thanks.”

Shaw’s eyebrows pulled together and Root could tell she was trying to figure out what to say.

“You’re welcome,” she said finally. Root closed her eyes and sighed.

“Are they coming back soon? Harold and John?” Root asked. Shaw chuckled.

“Not for a couple hours at least,” she said, her voice low.

“Why is that funny?” Root asked, opening her eyes. Shaw looked away as soon as they made eye contact, but Root thought she’d caught unadulterated tenderness.

“I figured you might want a shower. Thought that’d be easier without the white knight and the judge hovering,” Shaw said, raising her eyebrows with sarcasm as she pulled Root’s shirt up and her underwear down enough to look at the scrape on her hip. Root winced a little but it really did feel much better. Shaw looked like she wanted to say something else, but she wouldn’t look Root in the eye.

“I told them not to come for a while because… I wanted to just… be able to be here for you. If you need it,” Shaw finally said. Slowly at first, and then her words started to pick up speed as she tried to put up clumsy facades, protecting herself from the honesty of her own words. “Not that you need it, but you were hurting so much last night, and you know, in case you start crying again, which you shouldn’t, but you can if you need to. I mean, I know that people do cry when they- if they get hurt.”

Root put her bandaged hand on top of Shaw’s, which was still probing at the grazed skin on Root’s hip. Shaw looked up, startled and flustered.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t careful. And I’m sorry I cried,” Root said, smiling a little. She knew the smile wasn’t reaching her eyes. In fact, the sting of fresh tears came suddenly. She looked away from Shaw, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Shaw said, annoyed. Root nodded, her eyes on the opposite wall.

“I know,” she said quietly, and hated that her voice sounded strangled by emotion.

“Root, it’s ok. You’re ok.” Shaw’s voice was frustrated but earnest. Root took a deep breath and nodded again, then looked back at Shaw. It wasn’t ok. She may have survived this round, but Root knew that things were going to keep getting worse. But she didn’t want to say that. She wanted to stay in the subway station with Shaw, solid and comforting. Shaw looked at her, anxious. “A shower might make you feel better.”

Root picked at the edge of the bandage on her hand.

“Ok,” Root said quietly, and started to stand up. Shaw got up with her, hands planted on her hips out of habit, and they stood looking at one another uncertainly for a second. Root pulled at the hem of John’s undershirt, feeling exposed now that the lights were on and they were standing looking at one another. Root wanted to say something about what Shaw had whispered in the middle of the night, but didn’t want Shaw to shut down on her. It seemed better not to bring it up. Not when Shaw seemed to be on edge. Shaw looked away first, running a hand through her hair.

Root let her eyes fall to Shaw’s neck, then her chest, where it was clear that Shaw was cold in just the tank top and underwear. Root smirked a little, her gaze following the curves of Shaw’s body, the slim waist, the strong thighs. The same thought that she’d had last night entered her mind: the human body, particularly _this_ body, was perfect.

“I should take a look at your brand new piercing afterwards,” Shaw said, her voice gruff, and Root looked up quickly, hoping she hadn’t been caught appraising Shaw’s physique. But Shaw’s eyes were on the ground. Root didn’t understand at first what Shaw meant, which Shaw must have guessed because she looked up then. With an apologetic look she explained, “I’ve got to clean your elbow.”

Root’s stomach sank. She knew that this would not be fun. Shaw’s uneasy expression was all Root needed to see to know that Shaw was going to hurt her, and this time it was not going to be the fuel of anger and sex.

“I should’ve known better than to think I could keep feeling this good today,” Root said, the nervousness of her voice undermining the smile she tried to give Shaw. Shaw nodded.

“Well, shower first. Doesn’t make much sense to put on clean bandages and then get them wet,” Shaw said. She headed towards the bathroom and Root followed.

Inside, Root saw that someone had moved a little table into the small room where there was a myriad of medical supplies. In the trashcan there were fistfuls of bloody gauze and a few dirty surgical gloves. She hadn’t noticed all of these things in the middle of the night because it was so dark.

Root thought of Shaw, Harold, and John; how they had probably all been right here the day before, and she had probably been between them, unconscious.

“Here, take another one of these,” Shaw said, opening the little container of pills and shaking one into Root’s hand. Then she turned and filled the cup on the edge of the sink with water and handed it to Root. “That should hopefully take the edge off a little when the time comes.”

Root could feel her heart racing.

“Alright, I’m gonna take all your bandages off,” Shaw said, and Root nodded when Shaw stepped towards her, taking Root’s arm in her hands. She paused for a second, looking at her hands on Root’s arm. “You need to be careful. It’d be better if you didn’t get it too wet or be too aggressive with it.”

Root could see that Shaw was thinking about to phrase what she wanted to say next. Finally, she looked up and made eye contact with Root, her face serious.

“It might be easier if I helped you shower,” she said. Root couldn’t help the smile that spread on her face, and her eyebrows raised. Shaw was a little embarrassed, and then adjusted her face to a look of defiance. “You wanna try to do it by yourself?”

“No,” Root said, trying to be stoic, but she couldn’t completely wipe the smile from her face. “I’m just glad I’ve got a doctor who’s so willing to help.”

Shaw looked annoyed, and then pulled Root’s arm up a little, pulling the edge of the medical tape up from Root’s skin. Slowly, Shaw lifted the bandage from Root’s arm. The large strip of gauze that had been taped in a ring above Root’s elbow fell away and Root glanced down to see the entry and exit wounds in her flesh. Shaw was looking at them closely as well, leaning over to get a good look. When she gently prodded near the wound Root unintentionally jerked because it hurt.

“It’s not bleeding, which is good,” Shaw said, removing her hands from Root’s arm. “You’re gonna need to keep it dry though, I’ll tape some plastic over it and you’ll just have to keep it out of the way.”

Root felt a little shaky, but Shaw was all business and that was reassuring. Shaw took Root’s bandaged hand in her own and started pulling the tape away. It hurt because the gauze was sticking to the wound, but Shaw helped it free and looked at the red cuts on Root’s knuckles. Root looked as well and was surprised that it looked as good as it did.

“I had to glue these up. Stitches are awkward on knuckles. So this should heal up alright, but it’d still be better to not soak it,” Shaw said, then turned and tossed the bandages into the trash can.

She taped some plastic around Root’s arm, and when she finished they looked at one another for a long moment.

“Ready when you are,” Root said, trying to smile.

“Alright,” Shaw said. Shaw reached around Root and turned on the shower. There wasn’t a curtain or any real separation of the shower from the rest of the bathroom since Root had haphazardly installed it days before, and Shaw gently pulled Root towards her out of the way of the stream. “It takes it a second to get warm.”

Shaw reached out to Root and took the edge of the undershirt in her hands, pulling it up and over Root’s head. Root let Shaw undress her, swallowing hard. Shaw kept her eyes on Root’s except when she was guiding the shirt and then the underwear past the wounds, not letting her hands or gaze stray. Then Shaw turned and pulled her own tank top off, and Root wondered why Shaw kept turning away from her to change. She watched Shaw slide her underwear down, putting all of the clothes on the tank of the toilet, as far from the shower as possible.

Then Shaw turned back to Root, and Root instantly saw why Shaw had turned away when she was changing.

There was a pair of red scabs slightly off center on Shaw’s chest. The two circles were equal in size, about two inches apart, and Root recognized what they were immediately.

“Who tased you?” she asked, surprised and concerned. Shaw looked like she wished Root hadn’t noticed but knew this was coming. Root reached out to touch the welts on Shaw’s breast bone and Shaw let her, looking past Root’s shoulder with grief in her eyes.

“Finch,” Shaw growled, her eyes darkening. Root’s eyebrows raised as she watched Shaw’s lips purse.

“Why?” Root asked, letting her fingers brush over the welts, hiding the angry marks on Shaw’s chest as if somehow that would make them disappear. At first, Root thought Shaw was going to leave her question left unanswered. Finally, she replied with a tight sneer.

“I tried to leave,” she said, still avoiding Root’s gaze. Root shook her head.

“You can’t do that, you know they’re out there looking for you,” Root said, worry and frustration in her voice. She didn’t understand why Shaw would do something so reckless. But then, that wasn’t really true. She had a feeling she knew _exactly_ why Shaw had tried to leave: because Root and John had been in a dangerous situation, and Shaw hated missing out on the times when things got hectic. Shaw glanced into Root’s eyes and then away again.

“I know,” she said, taking her time, worrying her teeth over the split in her bottom lip. She sounded annoyed when she continued, but by the end her voice had softened. “John was going to keep watching the number and send Fusco to get you when he had a chance. I thought _they_ were going to get to you before one of us did.”

Root felt guilty for putting Shaw in that position, but also angry because Lionel and John had handled it just fine, and Shaw needed to trust them.

Root couldn’t decide what she wanted to do more- yell at Shaw or kiss her. She moved her hand from Shaw’s chest to her cheek, and Shaw turned her head away from the contact, looking sad and annoyed.

Root didn’t know what to do, and wished she didn’t feel like a ghost standing naked in front of Shaw. She felt like sinking into the subway tiles, letting her pale skin becoming a part of the cold white walls and floor. She couldn’t think of a time when she simultaneously felt so happy and angry with the same person. She was worried she was going to cry again.

“The water’s hot,” Shaw said, finally looking into Root’s eyes. As soon as they made eye contact Root knew she didn’t want to yell at the shorter woman. Shaw smiled apologetically and stepped under the shower, putting a hand out for Root to follow her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has passed 10,000 hits! And over FIVE HUNDRED people have clicked that “Kudos” button. That’s crazy and amazing. I’m so glad you guys like what I’ve been doing.
> 
> I finished this chapter not fifteen minutes before posting it because I’ve gotten super busy, but I really want to post the next chapter on the 25th as a present to you guys for being so great. I’ve also got a couple other story ideas that I’m looking forward to writing once I’ve finished this (although I won’t be able to write quite as much as this; I need to work on some projects that I could actually get paid for...)
> 
> And if you’re into listening to music while you read, I was listening to A Perfect Circle’s cover of “When the Levee Breaks” pretty much on repeat while writing this chapter. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aRbcQK1pamQ](url)

The water felt good pelting against Root’s skin despite the sadness sitting heavy in her stomach. She let Shaw move her arms out of the way. Let herself be turned around, her head tilted back under the hot stream of the shower. Her eyes closed when Shaw’s hands worked shampoo through her hair, then conditioner, her fingers gentle against the knot on the back of Root’s head. They were so close together that when Shaw tipped Root’s head back more and reached around her to rinse the soap out of her hair, Root felt Shaw’s chest accidentally brush against her own, and then Shaw moved away, realizing how close they were, perhaps. Root couldn’t be sure with her eyes closed.

She blinked water out of her eyes when Shaw’s hands left her scalp.

The shorter woman was washing her own hair as well, working her hands on her own scalp much more aggressively than she had on Root. Shaw turned and saw Root looking at her, and Root could see her throat bob as she swallowed.

Her eyes were huge and mournful, her mouth turned down at the corners. Root wanted to reach out to her, but didn’t know if Shaw would let her, or if that was what Shaw wanted.

There was a translucence about Shaw that scared Root. Sameen was like centuries-old stained glass. Root could see the design in the window, an ex-assassin who had a propensity to get lost in the grey of the moral spectrum, and Root could see that there was a light behind the image. A heart in a heartless woman. Shaw had always done what she did thinking that it was the right thing to do. But there was more to it than that. And no one had taken the time to care for these windows. Darkened by dirt and smoke, so the colors weren’t as bright as they should have been. Sure, they’d made it through bombings without being shattered, but they were so caked with grime that they were almost unrecognizable. It wasn’t that Root wanted to be the one to carefully wipe them clear again. But she wanted to be near them. Wanted to touch them, and look at them as closely as she pleased. Understand them.

Shaw rinsed her own hair and stepped out from under the water, her shoulders hunched against the cold air outside of the shower’s spray. She picked up the bar of soap Root had given her the day before. It almost slipped off the edge of the sink when she reached for it. There was no where else to put it in the small bathroom.

Stepping back under the water, Shaw’s shoulders relaxed at the warmth on her skin.

Shaw wouldn’t look into Root’s eyes when she reached out with the soap and touched her stomach, moving her hand in a circle, following it with her other to spread the soft white suds across Root’s abdomen, avoiding the scrape on Root’s hip. She looked away completely when her hands moved over Root’s chest, then looked back to Root’s body when soaping under Root’s raised arms and then up behind Root’s shoulders, her hands slipping smoothly to Root’s spine.

Root felt like her whole body was vibrating, her mind racing, wishing that Shaw wouldn’t be so sterile because it made her heart lodge in her throat. They were so close that Root could feel the warmth of Shaw’s body radiating towards her.

Shaw’s chest brushed Root’s again, and Root could see the flash of darkness in her eyes even though Shaw was avoiding eye contact at all costs. Root let their bodies touch again, and Shaw started to back away, thinking it had been accidental until her eyes flicked back to Root’s for a moment and then away. When their eyes connected, even though it was for a microscopic amount of time, there was an instantaneous understanding that it was ok for them to have contact.

Shaw’s eyes snapped back to Root’s as soon as she’d processed the unspoken agreement, and her eyes looked bright despite the melancholy in her face.

Root closed the gap between them again, and Shaw didn’t move away, her eyes on Root’s. Root bent her head and kissed Shaw, her hands still awkwardly stretched out of the way of the water. Shaw’s hand found Root’s good hip, steadying them against one another, then she guided Root back towards the wall, kissing her with bridled urgency. Root could tell Shaw was trying not to hurt her.

When Root’s back touched the tile she tensed against the ice cold, and Shaw pulled away with concern. Root put her right hand on the back of Shaw’s head, pulling them back together to kiss Shaw again, ignoring the pain of the water hammering against her ripped up knuckles when Shaw’s mouth found hers.

Soapy hands slid over Root’s torso, the bar of soap still clutched in one of Shaw’s hands as she ran them over Root’s sides, letting their bodies come together again. She paused in kissing Root, their open mouths still brushing together as Shaw looked into Root’s eyes. Root found herself wondering if her own eyes were half as dark as Shaw’s.

The fingers of Shaw’s free hand splayed and drifted over Root’s body, her neck to her shoulders to her chest, still half under the pretense that she was helping Root get clean. Root breathed heavily into Shaw’s open mouth, her eyes hanging on Shaw’s eyelashes, the dark irises consumed by wide pupils, the drops of water rolling down the bridge of her nose.

Root tried to meet Shaw’s mouth again, but Shaw pulled away, keeping their mouths separate as she moved. Shaw leaned forward again, still not actually kissing Root, their parted lips barely touching.

Then Shaw looked into her eyes, silent. Her hand moved down Root’s stomach, snaking between them. Shaw’s fingers were slick against the patch of hair between Root’s legs. Root’s heart thumped loud and fast in her chest, tight with desire.

The hand wasn’t even between her thighs when Root felt her knees weakening and her feet slipping on the tile. She grabbed with her wounded arm for Shaw’s shoulders to catch herself, and cried out in pain when water pounded against the plastic sheet taped over her elbow.

Immediately, Shaw knew what had happened and moved her hands. One to Root’s arm, shifting it back out of the way, the other dropping the soap and catching Root against the wall by her armpit.

Root leaned her back against the tiles, recovering from the shock of pain, her eyes shut.

“We can’t do this,” Shaw said quietly. Root felt sorrow and disappointment hot in her throat. She hoped that the shower would mask the tears that were boiling just under the surface, threatening to spill out from her closed eyelids, and tried to keep her face from screwing up and revealing that she was hurting. It made her feel worse that it was more from Shaw’s words than from the bullet wound in her arm. She didn’t even know why such a simple sentence had hurt her so much.

She let Shaw’s hands pull her back fully under the water to rinse the soap from her body. Then Shaw pushed her back to the wall and kissed her neck.

“You’re going to get hurt,” Shaw said quietly, moving away. Root realized that she may have misunderstood the wounding sentence, and if that was the case she didn’t want to open her eyes and reveal the stupidity of her emotions. She stayed where Shaw had left her for a long couple of moments, breathing deeply to dispel the tension in her chest.

When she finally did open her eyes, she saw that Shaw was looking down at the scabs on her chest, white foam from the soap collecting between her fingers as she touched one of the wounds. She quickly spread the soap across her body, then rinsed herself clean and turned off the shower.

Shaw looked over at Root and handed her the grey towel, hunching her body and crossing her arms now that the water's heat was gone. Root started to towel off and had to stop because exerting force on herself made her arms hurt. Shaw saw and took the towel, gently blotting the water off of Root’s skin. 

She dried herself off some and handed Root her underwear and shirt, then put the towel around Root’s shoulders after watching her get dressed. Shaw quickly put on the tank top and underwear she’d been wearing before.

“Let’s get this over with,” Shaw said, turning away.

Shaw gestured for Root to sit down on the closed toilet.

“I can probably clean it with you sitting here,” Shaw said, moving to sterilize the equipment with rubbing alcohol while she kept talking, not looking at Root. “Which is good because the floor is pretty cold. You didn’t seem to mind it yesterday, but I’d guess you might this time. Since you’re awake.”

Shaw put on a pair of gloves as she turned back to Root, who had sat down on the lid of the toilet, cold under her bare thighs. She held her arm out and Shaw crouched beside her, gingerly taking hold of Root’s wrist and elbow to turn her arm, pulling the plastic off. Root found that she couldn’t watch as Shaw gently cleaned the wound. It hurt so much that she thought she might throw up, her other hand gripping her bare thigh hard to try to distract herself from the pain.

But then it was over. Shaw capped the antibiotic ointment and re-bandaged Root’s arm, then took Root’s other hand from her thigh and did the same. After she’d finished, she ran a hand over Root’s skin where she’d dug her fingernails into her own flesh. Root felt wet hair brush against her thigh and she looked down at Shaw, whose head was tilted up so she could look at Root.

“You look pale,” Shaw said apologetically, squeezing Root’s knee reassuringly.

With every second that passed, her arm hurt less. Now that Shaw wasn’t actively touching it, her nerves were calming.

“I’ll get in touch with the boys, get ‘em to bring some food. It might help,” Shaw said as she stood up, turning to leave the bathroom. Root got up too and followed Shaw through the doorway.

“Wait a while,” Root said, and she knew that it didn’t sound as strong as she wanted it to, but Shaw had paused and was looking back at her. Root approached her and put her bandaged hand on Shaw’s arm, smiling weakly.

She really didn’t hurt as much anymore, and she didn’t feel like sleeping, but she wanted to lay down. Wanted to feel Shaw’s warm body against hers again. She was pleased when Shaw nodded and followed her back to the bed, and was surprised that Shaw guided her back against the pillow wordlessly, like she _knew_ , without being told, exactly what Root needed.

But Root could tell that Shaw was anxious. Root smiled and propped herself up on her good elbow, extending a hand towards Shaw, encouraging her to come lay face to face. Shaw climbed into the bed, still looking uncharacteristically nervous as she laid down and pushed her wet hair behind her.

Root touched Shaw’s cheek. Shaw let her, and hesitantly put her hand on Root’s waist. Root wanted to crush herself against Shaw, press herself against Shaw hard to confirm that they were there, together.

Shaw kissed her, all soft lips and warm damp skin. Shaw rolled Root onto her back gently, and her palm pressed flat against Root’s chest, cautious and careful when it drifted over the undershirt Root had put back on.

Root winced a little, trying to stop the sharp little intake of breath when she put her arm around Shaw’s shoulders to hug their bodies together, the need to be in contact urgent, and pain radiated from her elbow.

Shaw stopped the kiss. She looked guilty and then reproachful.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice low. Root felt the pressure of unshed tears in her throat because she wanted so much to be close to Shaw. But she blinked them away, swallowing hard as she smiled, her lips pressed together tight.

“You won’t,” Root managed to say without giving away how desperate she felt. Shaw raised her eyebrows in a warning.

“If I do, you have to tell me to stop,” Shaw said, frustration in her voice. Root could see how dilated her pupils were, and thought of how quickly Shaw had turned the tables from sterility to sexuality in the shower. She knew that Shaw wanted this as much as she did. But this wariness in Shaw was new, and Root didn’t fully understand it.

“I will,” Root told her with what she hoped was a convincing smile. Shaw’s mouth curved upwards at the corners, and she bent her head to kiss Root again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is E-Rated (until the break near the end)
> 
> If you like music, [this is a playlist of what I was listening to while I was writing](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3y9ZNBUChH4R5g6fMFdGgWEK9QXQSbEs).
> 
> I hope everyone has (or has had) a Joyous Holiday Season or Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah or Happy Kwanzaa or Happy Festivus or Pleasant Winter or Lovely New Year or Enjoyable End of December or just a Nice Thursday for those of you who don’t believe in months. I don’t know who that would be, but if you’re reading this, have a Nice Thursday, friend!
> 
> I made sure I finished this chapter for today because knowing people are waiting for it is pretty hard to deny! Enjoy.

The hand that caressed Root’s waist beneath the undershirt was gentle despite the rough finger tips. Shaw’s lips were tender on Root’s, featherlight as they moved from Root’s lips to her jaw, down her throat.

Everything about Shaw’s motions suggested that they had all the time in the world. Unhurried but not teasing, she spread her fingers on Root’s stomach. Just to feel Root’s skin.

Root felt a surge of affection for Shaw when the shorter woman pulled her head back so their eyes could meet.

She let her hand slip further up under the shirt, her thumb brushing against the swell of Root’s breast. Root lifted her head a little to kiss Shaw again and Shaw obliged, meeting her lips again as her hand and fingers kept moving, lightly tracing patterns on Root’s ribcage in slow motion.

Shaw removed her hand from under Root’s shirt, instead running her fingers through Root’s damp hair, separating her lips from Root’s as her hand shifted from Root’s hair to her neck. It drifted to Root’s mouth, one finger drifting along her bottom lip like she was blind, reading brail, and Root kissed it. Shaw replaced her hand with her mouth again, kissing Root and moving her hand down her neck to her chest again.

Her palm pressed warm against Root’s breast through the shirt, and when she lifted her hand Root raised herself up to keep the connection, her spine lifting from the mattress. Shaw’s fingers lazily circled Root’s hardening nipple through the white cotton, then gently rolled it between two fingers. Root sighed into Shaw’s mouth, and Shaw moved her head down, kissing Root’s throat. Root’s eyes slowly shut, and through the undershirt she felt the hot exhale of Shaw’s breath against her other nipple followed by the contact of Shaw’s mouth.

Shaw kissed her way down Root’s chest and stomach to the edge of the undershirt and slowly pulled it up. Root arched her back again to let Shaw pull it up more smoothly, but she seemed content for the moment to place soft kisses just below Root’s belly button. One after another in a wandering line, her hands circling Root’s waist.

Root tried to sit up but when she used her elbow to help prop herself up it hurt and she had to stop, a shiver running down her spine at the pain. Shaw took hold of Root’s hand in her own, giving it a squeeze as she looked up into Root’s face, asking with her eyes if she was ok. Root smiled at her, and Shaw helped Root sit up and took the shirt off carefully, then followed it with her own.

Root’s eyes immediately went to the wounds on Shaw’s chest. They were magnetic to her. She couldn’t _not_ think about Shaw being so desperate to leave that Finch resorted to using a taser on her. She put out her hand, covering the scabs again because it hurt to think of Shaw wild with anger and worry. Shaw’s face immediately saddened. She looked hesitant again. Like she was afraid of Root, maybe.

Reaching out to her, Root kissed Shaw reassuringly, not sure why there was fear in her eyes or what else she could do about it. The hands that found Root’s face were purposeful and careful at the same time, fingers in the soft hair at the base of her skull, heels pressed against her jaw, Shaw’s kiss increasingly needy.

Root put her hands on Shaw’s waist, careful not to move too much because she knew it would hurt her arm and she was afraid Shaw would stop kissing her if she sensed the pain.

Shaw laid Root back on the mattress, still kissing her, and Root relaxed into the bedding, Shaw’s chest and her own touching lightly. Then her eyes shut again as Shaw kissed across her cheek to her neck. She felt Shaw’s nipples brush against her stomach as Shaw continued her trail of kisses to Root’s chest, lingering on her collar bones, then down her sternum. With her face between Root’s breasts, her touch was so gentle on Root that she might have been someone else.

Her mouth on Root’s breasts was luxurious. The lips and tongue that encircled each nipple were tender, taking their time. Root put her bandaged hand on the back of Shaw’s head, feeling her face flush and her breathing increase as Shaw moved against her, pressing her hip bone between Root’s legs so Root was laying with her legs apart, shifting against Shaw.

After she’d spent a long amount of time kissing and touching every inch of skin from Root’s neck to her stomach, Shaw shifted down more, kissing Root’s thigh, letting her breath and lips slide over the pale skin, her fingers breezing over Root’s hips, carefully missing the grazed skin on Root’s side.

One hand, fingers spread like a star, traveled back up Root’s stomach. Shaw kissed her through her underwear, just as soft and delicate as every other kiss, her other hand on Root’s thigh. Root put her hand on top of Shaw’s on her chest, wanting to feel as close to her as possible.

When Shaw exhaled onto Root through the fabric, Root’s hand tightened on Shaw’s. Shaw turned her hand around from Root’s chest to be palm to palm with Root’s, pressed her fingers between Root’s, entwining them as she kissed Root’s body again, open-mouthed against the fabric of her underwear. She reached her hand from Root’s leg up behind her, beneath the underwear’s edge to pull Root’s hips towards her face.

Root took a shaky breath, sighing at the fluidity of Shaw’s motions, that perfect body and all of its muscles that worked in unison towards a goal. A goal that was being on or in or with Root, or all of the above.

Root’s mind was going fuzzy.

She squeezed Shaw’s hand like it was an anchor, but her arm throbbed painfully and she had to stop. Shaw released her hand, like she knew, but kept her palm warm against Root’s chest, the hand behind Root, inside her underwear, shifting to pull the underwear to the side.

A sharp little exhale caught in Root’s throat when Shaw’s tongue pressed into her. Her breathing was already unsteady, little pants, coming short. Shaw groaned once, low and quiet, her mouth pushed against Root. The vibration made Root’s toes curl, her body tightening deliciously.

Shaw pulled away, smirking up at Root as she pulled her underwear off, followed by her own boy shorts.

Then Shaw moved back down between Root’s legs, and her mouth was on Root again, one hand taking Root’s in her own, holding onto Root’s hand reassuringly, blindly, her other hand brushing against Root’s inner thigh. Shaw’s tongue moved rhythmically against Root, and then a finger slid slowly inside of her, and Root sighed an ‘ _oh_ ’, drawn out and quiet as Shaw’s hand and mouth moved together.

Root knew her hips were moving in time with Shaw, knew how hopelessly desperate she must seem, but she didn’t care. She felt herself being pulled higher and higher by Shaw’s expert mouth, her breathing increasing, her hips grinding up into Shaw. She lifted her head and saw Shaw’s strong shoulders.

Root took a shuddering breath, wanting contact again, wanting to be close, closer than before, closer than they ever could be. Shaw looked up when Root reached out for those strong shoulders and tried to sit up, so she saw her wince, saw the tears immediately blurring her vision because it hurt and she wanted to be able to grab Shaw and hold onto her.

Shaw quickly moved up Root’s body, kissing her hungrily and pressing their chests together. Root could taste herself on Shaw’s tongue. 

She pressed a leg up between Shaw’s, and Shaw let her, let them move together, her own breathing coming shorter. Root put her arm around Shaw’s shoulders, holding them close together as Shaw gently sucked on her bottom lip, releasing it only to take an unsteady breath, a low groan coming from deep in her throat as her hips pushed harder back against Root’s.

They were so in sync, so closely fit together.

Their eyes connected and Root felt like some of Shaw’s perfection was spilling out through those dark eyes into her own because Shaw was looking at her with so much adoration and desire. Like this was the only place they could ever be this human. This animalistic.

Shaw’s teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, and Root could see the split, still healing. She pressed her mouth into Shaw’s, making her give up the assailment on her own lip so they could kiss again because this wasn’t about hurting. The pressure in Root’s chest and between her legs grew, more intense, and she had to stop kissing Shaw because she felt like she was gasping for air when that warm palm found her chest again, those strong fingers delicate when they closed on her nipple.

Under Root’s arm, Shaw’s back moved faster, and Root arched up into her, their legs pressed together. Her eyes shut. She couldn’t help but grind harder up into Shaw, and she felt the sharp intake of air that this brought. Root opened her eyes again and saw that Shaw was as close as she was. She put her bandaged hand on Shaw’s hip, guiding their motions, looking directly into one another’s eyes, their mouths open, panting, breathing in one another’s exhales.

Root felt the tidal wave cresting inside of her, and saw Shaw shaking above her. She could see that Shaw’s eyes were screwing shut and with her bad arm she put a hand on Shaw’s cheek. She was too close for the pain to matter, too hungry to see into Shaw’s eyes. Shaw understood, her eyes opening, hazy as they darkly met Root’s.

The sound that escaped from Root was too high, an accidental little whine of pleasure because she could see behind Shaw’s eyes, the endless light behind them, and they fell over the edge together, still moving. Root could feel herself losing her rhythm, and Shaw faltered as well, groaning quietly from that deep place in her throat again. Shaw’s head fell to Root’s shoulder, burying into her neck so Root could feel the uneven breaths against her throat.

Finally, Shaw collapsed on top of Root, breathing heavily against Root’s collar bone. Root moved her arm to drape around Shaw’s waist, and smiled when she felt Shaw’s lips press a kiss against her skin.

Shaw lifted her head again to kiss Root, her body weighing comfortably on Root’s. She took Root’s face in her hands and kissed her, long and slow, then rested her forehead against Root’s.

“You alright?” Shaw asked, her voice low. Root smiled a little, licking her dry lips.

“Perfect,” she replied. Shaw chuckled. They laid still for a minute, then Shaw reached down and pulled the blankets up and over them, settling back on top of Root’s chest.

————————————

It took Root a while to realize that she’d fallen asleep in the quiet aftermath of their sex. She felt the heavy weight on her and thought it had to do with being shot. But then she realized that there was air being expelled, warm into the crook of her neck, and it occurred to her that the weight was Shaw’s body, asleep on top of her, face nuzzling against Root’s throat.

She put a hand on Shaw’s back and Shaw stirred.

Shaw stretched her arms out languidly, then stiffened, her whole perfect body going rigid against Root’s as she tensed. Root thought briefly that Shaw was a bit like a cat. Really she was more like a panther. Silky dark hair and sleek muscle. Powerful. Shaw’s body relaxed again and she propped herself up to look at Root. She looked a little surprised.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” Shaw said, her words muddled. Root put a hand on the back of Shaw’s head, pulling her into a kiss. They were interrupted by Root’s stomach, loudly grumbling. Shaw backed away, looking a little disappointed.

“Hungry?” Shaw asked jokingly as the grumbling continued. Root smirked back at her.

“Yeah, I think I worked up a bit of an appetite,” she teased. Shaw shook her head, clearly amused, and kissed her again.

“I’ll tell the guys to bring us food,” Shaw said, starting to get up. Root’s arm felt stiff as she reached for Shaw to stop her from leaving the warmth of the bed. Shaw raised an eyebrow again and smirked a little at her. Even as she said it, it looked like Shaw was surprised that the words were coming from her mouth when she said, “I’m coming right back.”

She found the phone at the foot of the cot and came back, sitting down beside Root. She quickly typed a text and sent it, then turned to look at Root.

“I guess we’re even now, from the other day when you said you owed me,” Root said with a smirk, knowing Shaw wouldn’t understand what she was talking about without the explanation. It still took a moment of thought for Shaw to get it, and then she looked up at the ceiling, her dark eyes on the pipes as the hint of a smile played on her lips.

“I don’t think this really counts,” she said. Root’s eyebrows raised, knowing whatever Shaw said next was going to make her smile. “As your doctor, I’m supposed to do everything in my power to make you feel good. So… I was just doing my job.”

Shaw looked at Root out of the corner of her eye and when they made eye contact they both grinned.

“I’ve never had a doctor who’s so thorough,” Root said, and Shaw turned to look at her and give her a sarcastic shrug, chewing on her lower lip. Then Shaw bent and kissed her again.

“If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right,” Shaw said seductively, their mouths close.

“Subtle,” Root teased, kissing her again.

The phone buzzed in Shaw’s hand and she sat back up, reading the text. Her face immediately fell, and Root looked at her questioningly when she turned back to look at her.

“They’re _all_ coming,” Shaw said, disappointment and annoyance in her voice. Root’s eyes narrowed, wondering what exactly Shaw meant.

“All of them?” she asked.

“John and Fusco are bringing a second cot. And Harold wants to bring Bear and the food,” Shaw explained. “So yeah. All of them.”

Root winced a little and sat up, her bandaged hand finding Shaw’s bare back.

“Guess we should get up then,” Root said quietly. Shaw nodded.

“Let’s see what clothes of mine you can wear,” she said, getting up.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient everybody! Sorry this chapter is late! I'm working on the next chapter now and I'll do my best to get it up in the next forty eight hours. I've had a busy week but I know you guys are looking forward to more of this so I'm trying to make time to keep writing.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, you guys are the best!

“You should wear these stupid things,” Shaw said, chucking a lacy pair of underwear at the bed. It fell short and Root looked at the frilly garment dismissively.

“No,” she said with a smile. Shaw looked over at her, surprised at the short refusal.

“You want _me_ to wear them. And they’re more up your alley than mine,” Shaw said, incredulous.

“I know they are,” Root said, getting up from the bed and crossing to Shaw, standing beside the stacks of clothes. Root picked up one of the pairs of underwear of the variety Shaw favored. Little black boy short briefs with a thick white band. Playfully, she stood too close to Shaw and said, “But I was hoping I could feel a little more like you.”

Shaw scowled and looked like she was going to say no, but decided against it. When Root pulled them on, she could tell that Shaw appreciated the look, her dark eyes on Root’s legs.

It took a bit of trial and error, but finally Root was dressed. They settled on a hooded jacket and a pair of Shaw’s running shorts because all of Shaw’s pants were too short for Root. Root watched Shaw pull on some pants and a shirt effortlessly and wished she could move smoothly like that. Every action she made seemed to require the aid of Shaw.

Shaw even helped set Root up in Finch’s desk chair, draping a blanket over her bare legs. Root was still sitting there a while later, typing away on the keyboard while Shaw sat nearby. Root could feel Shaw’s eyes on her, searching for something, and Root didn’t know what it was that Shaw wanted to see. Every time she looked in Shaw’s direction, the shorter woman looked away, pretending that her eyes hadn’t been glued to Root.

They both turned when they heard the grunts of the boys coming down the stairs. Fusco and Reese rounded the corner carrying a mattress with a metal bed frame, still in a cardboard box to be assembled, stacked on top. Finch followed soon thereafter with a bag cradled against his chest and Bear on his lead, trying to keep the dog out of the way.

When Finch saw that Root was on his computer he visibly stiffened.

“It smells worse than the locker room at the police academy down here. You guys seriously need to consider a place with windows next time,” Fusco said, breathing heavily as he dropped his end of the mattress. Root glanced Shaw’s direction and almost caught her eye but Shaw looked like she was smirking a little, having just looked away to avoid making eye contact. Root knew they’d both been thinking that the smell of sex was probably still hanging heavy in the air. “What the hell is this place anyway?”

John gave Fusco a sidelong look. While Fusco was wiping his sweaty forehead on the sleeve of his suit coat, John simply gave each of his sleeves a tug to realign his shirt under his jacket after carrying the mattress.

“Maybe it should be your gym,” John said, smirking at Fusco as the shorter man tried to regain his breath. “Shaw’s got a whole training circuit set up.”

“Yeah real funny,” Fusco replied with annoyance. Harold had entered the subway car and was standing over Root at his computer, looking at the monitors pointedly. Shaw got up from the seat she’d been sitting in mounted inside the car and took a step towards Finch and Root. Root could see the anxiety and anger in Shaw’s expression, her lips pursed a tiny bit.

“Miss Groves,” Finch said by way of greeting, his eyes on the computer screen instead of her face. She smiled up at him, tilting her head to one side. Finally he looked down at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks for asking, Harry,” Root said playfully. She could tell he was hoping for his chair to be empty, and waited a long couple of moments before she stood up, just making him wait.

When she did stand up, she winced in pain and Shaw’s hands immediately found her good elbow and the small of her back, guiding her out of the chair. Root smiled down at her, knowing her eyes were probably betraying the pain she felt as well as the affection for Shaw at such an uncharacteristic action. Root wasn’t the only one who noticed. Fusco was entering the car with his eyebrows raised. Shaw quickly dropped her hands to her sides as John came to the doorway and smirked at her.

Root moved out of Finch’s way and sat down in the seat that Shaw had occupied before, still warm from her body. Shaw tried to pretend that she’d gone over to Finch and Root because Harold was holding the bag of food, but Root could tell that John had seen through it, leaning against the door frame with a smug expression on his face.

“What’s for lunch, mom?” Shaw asked Finch gruffly. He gave her a disapproving look when she reached past him without waiting for a reply, taking the bag from his hand and opening it. She pulled out a large thermos and looked at him, waiting for him to say something.

“Coffee, as you requested,” he said. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so I brought cream and sugar as well.”

Shaw reached into the bag and found the little carton of half and half and some sugar packets, as well as cups. She turned to Root with the coffee and the blanket Root had on her lap before and handed her a cup, unscrewing the lid of the thermos to pour some for the wounded woman. As she held the styrofoam cup in her bandaged hand, Root felt grateful.

“Thanks,” Root said quietly, touched when Shaw carefully added cream and sugar to Root’s cup and even stirred the coffee for her, watching nervously as Root took a sip.

“Careful. Don’t spill it. It’s hot,” Shaw said, her voice the usual grumble, but Root could see Shaw’s eyes on her mouth and hands, worried that Root might drop it. Shaw carefully draped the blanket over Root’s legs again.

“No offense Cocoa Puffs, but I like you being hurt. Looks like Sheena’s feeling less murderous today,” Fusco said, and Shaw turned and gave him a withering look. He fidgeted under her gaze and sat down in another of the chairs installed in the subway car. John crossed to Finch’s desk and the bag of food. When he was close to Shaw, he leaned towards her playfully.

“He’s right. You two are good for each other,” John said, pulling Chinese food containers out of the bag. Shaw looked flustered and mad as she took one from him.

“I’m the only one who’s got medical training,” Shaw said, annoyed as she sat down in a chair far from Root’s. Root couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

Finch extended a box of food to Root and she took it, fumbling with the flimsy cardboard. She felt frustrated that she was having trouble with such a simple task. She could feel eyes on her, and when she looked up she caught Shaw watching her, sitting very still like she was waiting to see if Root was going to be able to eat.

“Coffee?” Finch asked Shaw, a cup outstretched to her.

“Right. Yeah, thanks,” Shaw said, accepting the cup and putting it down without sipping it. Root had finally gotten the food open and took a fork that John extended to her. She could feel Shaw’s eyes on her again when she awkwardly took a bite, the bandages on her knuckles making it hard and uncomfortable to use the fork.

“So what’s the plan here? We gonna have family dinners down here like we’re the British and it’s world war two? I’m not crazy about waiting for some crazies crazier than you guys to come blow us all up,” Fusco said.

“Lionel, you have such a way with words,” Root said playfully. He looked annoyed that he was being made fun of, and Shaw smiled into her lo mein. Root felt her heart skip a beat knowing she’d made Shaw smile and Finch looked between them, judgement clear on his face.

“The plan is to keep saving the people we need to save, and wait for an opportunity to present itself so that we can stop these people from taking over,” Finch explained, impatient. Bear was sniffing at Shaw’s hands and she pat him on the head once, then told him to sit.

“Oh yeah? And what if an opportunity _doesn’t_ present itself?” Fusco asked. John looked at Finch apologetically.

“He has a point,” John said.

“Given that one of us is already bound to this subway station and another has been injured, I don’t think it’s the best idea to send you all out with guns blazing hoping to get results,” Finch replied, annoyed. His words were clipped, his large eyes fixed uncomfortably on Fusco’s face.

“What does She think?” Shaw interjected, looking directly at Root. Bear was putting his head on Shaw’s lap, clearly upset that he was being ignored. Root raised her eyebrows a little as everyone looked over at her.

“I don’t know,” Root said. It hurt to admit it, but she hadn’t heard anything from the Machine since she’d passed out in Shaw’s apartment. Like she had disappointed the Machine, or failed Her.

“Who cares what she thinks? She just got herself shot, remember?” Fusco said. Everyone ignored the uninformed comment. Through a mouthful of food, he continued, “I’m just sayin’ her plans didn’t go so well last time.”

“Hopefully she’s learned from her mistakes,” Finch said, his words short and enunciated, frustrated. Bear was curling up on top of Shaw’s feet.

“Maybe you need to be up there to figure out what needs to be done?” John asked Root. Bear was giving up on Shaw and tried to sniff at Fusco’s food but the big man pushed him away, holding his box of food up above his head.

“Maybe. I can go now and see what I can do,” Root said, watching Fusco and choosing her words carefully to keep him in the dark about the Machine.

“No, you can’t go up there,” Shaw said. Finch and John joined Root in looking at Shaw. Once Fusco had gotten Bear to leave him alone he too looked over at her. Her voice angry, Shaw explained, her eyes only on Root, “You just got shot. You can barely get dressed by yourself, you’re _not_ going up there. You’d be a sitting duck.”

Root took a sip of coffee. Bear came and sat down on her feet now, his head resting on her knee. With the hand on the side where she’d been shot, she pet the top of his head gently, and he closed his eyes.

“I’ll stay a day or two, but then I have to go up there. I have to help,” Root said. She could tell that Shaw was angry with her but Root knew that Shaw understood it really was necessary. They ate the rest of the meal in virtual silence, Root catching Shaw looking at her a couple more times.

When they were done eating, Fusco left, telling John that if he didn’t come back soon too there would be a lot of questions asked that Fusco wasn’t going to make up answers to. John just smiled at him until he left in a huff.

“Should we put this cot together?” John asked Shaw. With clearly fake innocence he continued, “It seems like you did just fine without it last night. Did you sleep on the floor?”

Shaw’s glare was venomous put John didn’t seem to notice. Root got up from her chair and started picking up the remains of their meal and putting them back into the bag Finch had brought.

Shaw hadn’t touched her coffee.

As Root went into the bathroom to pour it out, it occurred to her that Finch had said Shaw had explicitly requested the drink. But she hadn’t consumed any of it. Root wasn’t sure if Shaw had just changed her mind or if she’d asked for it because she’d seen Root drink coffee so often. The thought made her smile, and when she exited the bathroom she paused, watching Shaw stand with her hands on her hips, Bear sitting politely at her feet, while John held up two piece of metal.

Shaw seemed content to stand around without offering any assistance while John tried to muddle through the instructions to put the bed frame together.

Root went back into the subway car where Finch was working at the computer.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said without turning around when she entered behind him.

“Things are going to keep getting worse,” she told him. He turned stiffly, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, Miss Groves,” he said. He looked away from her, back at his keyboard. “That’s why I’m glad you’re alright.”

She stood in silence behind him for a minute. She felt awkward.

“Mr. Reese is going back to follow our number this afternoon. He has a meeting with some engineers whose last project involved designing server rooms on a container ship,” Finch said, his words slow, the significance of his words obvious.

“He’s working for Samaritan,” Root said as it dawned on her what Finch meant, her stomach sinking. Things really were getting worse. Finch gave a little nod. “What are they building now?”

“We don’t know yet. But we can only guess that they’re expanding. Or building back-up servers so that if we were to destroy what they already have, they can move on to the next warehouse,” Finch said. Root could tell he was worried.

“But if we can find out where the new warehouses are supposed to be built, we can stop them,” Root said.

“That would only be temporary,” Finch said.

“So what then?” Root asked. Finch took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the far wall, then he looked back at Root.

“Are you still in contact with your hackers?” Finch asked. He looked like he wanted to do something, _anything_ else, but he felt backed into a corner. Root’s eyebrows pulled upward with worry. “I think we need to find out where the servers are and destroy them.”

“They could be anywhere, Harold,” Root said. “And as soon as we get rid of one, they’re just going to make it harder to get rid of the next one.”

“I know. We need to destroy them,” Harold said, pausing because he had to take a breath to steady himself, seeming like he knew how futile this would be, “all of them, at the same time.”

Root watched him purse his lips as he finished speaking.

“If it doesn’t work, if they catch _one_ of us,” Root said, swallowing hard, “They’ll know to look for anything suspicious. And we’ll _all_ die.”

“That’s right,” Finch said. He looked terrified. Root looked away, out the window towards Reese and Shaw, who were struggling to connect a spring to the frame of the bed.

“Have they identified John? Or me?” She asked, realizing that after the previous day Samaritan could have gained quite a bit of intel.

“It doesn’t appear that way,” Finch told her. “They may have figured out who you were, but as long as the Machine can keep creating identities for you, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“But Sameen… she has to stay here,” Root said. It wasn’t a question. They both knew that Shaw’s incendiary tactics tended to get noticed anyway, but if Samaritan so much as recognized her for the briefest instant, all of the operatives all over the world, in every warehouse filled with servers, would be on high alert. Shaw’s presence would put everyone in danger, all of the hackers they managed to convince to help would be killed.

“I know,” Finch said. “She cannot find out what we’re planning. She already tried to leave once. Luckily I had a taser on me, I thought she might do something like that eventually.”

Root looked at her hands and felt tears burning her eyes. She blinked them away.

“Thank you for stopping her,” Root said quietly, her words catching in her throat. Finch nodded, and when they made eye contact Root could see that Finch understood that there was a connection between Shaw and herself.

“As I said, Miss Shaw can’t know of our plans,” Finch said. Root nodded and watched as John dragged the mattress onto the newly constructed cot and then pushed it side by side with the one Root and Shaw had shared the night before. Root could see the smirk on John’s face as he said something to Shaw and her expression darkened. She pushed the beds apart roughly, the metal frame hitting John's shins. He stepped backwards and continued to smile down at her despite her glare.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this latest chapter!
> 
> Look at me posting on schedule!
> 
> As always, thanks for all the comments and kudos and general positivity. It really does mean a lot to me to get such a good response from you all.

Harold left saying that he wouldn’t be back for a few days. Root could tell that John knew as well as she did that Finch meant he was going to try to figure out where some of the other server locations were, following leads that likely would take him all over the world. John and Fusco would be in charge of bringing food to the subway station as well as anything else Shaw and Root (and Bear) might need.

Then John left too, saying that he had some work he had to take care of, and Shaw and Root were left by themselves again.

Bear was very obviously happy to see Shaw, and she changed into workout clothes to play fetch with the PVC pipe with him for quite a long time while Root sat using the laptop she’d brought for Shaw, reaching out to the men she’d gotten help from when she was trying to implant the Machine’s disguises for their little team into Samaritan’s system. She had to admit that she didn’t think that three extra guys was going to turn the tables on Samaritan’s vast network, but Finch had asked her to contact them and as long as the Machine wasn’t speaking to her, she figured she should listen to the next best thing.

She finished sending the last coded message and paused, looking in Shaw's. She’d sent Bear after a rat a minute ago, and Root now saw that Shaw was sitting with a smallish, open cardboard box a few feet in front of her, holding the deck of cards Finch had given her. For a moment Root thought she was playing some sort of solitary card game. Instead, Shaw was throwing the cards, one at a time, towards the box. A few made it in, but the force Shaw was throwing the cards with meant that they caught some wind and drifted. When one missed, she looked at the card, flipping it over if necessary, and then quickly did some pushups.

The process was repeated a few more times and then Root got up and went over to Shaw.

“What’s this? You found a new game?” Root asked playfully as Shaw threw another card. It made it into the box. Shaw looked up at her with a hint of annoyance. Another card left Shaw’s hands. It fell face up, a nine of clubs.

“Something like that,” Shaw said as she propped herself up on her hands and did nine pushups, speaking between each lift, “If I miss, I do the same number of pushups as the number on the card. Face cards are eleven.”

“And how does one _win_ this game?” Root asked.

Shaw sat up and threw a few more and shook her head. “It’s not about winning. I just keep going until I run out of cards.”

“And that’s supposed to be fun?” Root teased. Shaw put the deck down on the ground with more force than was necessary.

“Not really. It’s just supposed to give me something to do,” she said. Root could tell that Shaw was fed up with being in the subway station but was trying to be patient. “We should change your bandages again. It’s been a while.”

Shaw didn’t speak much while she was cleaning the bullet wound, and Root could tell she was stewing. Then she had rewrapped all Root's scrapes and went back to the box and cards to finish the deck. Once that was accomplished, she started running the station from end to end.

Root sat at the laptop again, but really she spent her time watching Shaw surreptitiously, the frustration building up in Shaw with each length of the platform that she ran. Bear ran with her, his tongue hanging happily out of his mouth.

Eventually Shaw slowed to a stop, sweat soaking through her shirt, her face beaded with perspiration.

“Why do you do that?” Root asked as she got up gingerly from the chair she had been sitting in, annoyed that Shaw was getting herself pissed off.

“Because I’m stuck in a subway station and I’m not going to waste away down here,” Shaw growled.

“I get that, but you’re just making yourself mad,” Root said, her voice light. She could see that Shaw was bristling with anger at the words. Shaw swiped at her forehead with the back of her forearm and looked away, so Root walked towards her to step into her line of vision again. “Things could be worse.”

“I know,” Shaw said, the words clipped. She was still avoiding Root’s eyes but the taller woman could see that her expression had softened. Bear came and stood between them, his tail thwacking repeatedly against Root’s leg as he looked up at Shaw with his ears perked up.

“You’ve got two of us to keep you company now, that has to count for something,” Root said playfully, trying to lighten Shaw’s mood. Shaw rubbed behind Bear’s ears as she looked up at Root with a smile that was almost sheepish.

“Definitely doesn’t hurt,” Shaw said, her voice low. Root stepped closer to Shaw, leaning over Bear to take Shaw’s chin in her bandaged hand. She pulled Shaw’s face to hers gently and kissed her. When it was clear that she was going to take her time, Bear scooted out from between them, annoyed that Shaw’s hand had left his head and was instead on Root’s waist.

Root kissed Shaw’s neck, the soft spot beneath her ear, nipping her way down Shaw’s throat. She could feel Shaw’s hands tighten on her waist, a deep sigh giving away her pleasure under Root’s teeth and tongue. Root could taste Shaw’s sweat.

She broke away with a smirk and got a questioning look in response.

“You smell,” Root teased. Shaw scowled, but Root could tell her heart wasn’t in it. “John’s supposed to be bringing dinner soon, so you should probably shower. Maybe a cold one?”

Shaw chuckled as she stepped away, running her hands over her face.

“You are such a tease,” she said with a grin. Root smiled back at her.

“I know,” Root said playfully. Shaw shook her head as she walked away to the bathroom.

——————————

John arrived while Shaw was still in the bathroom, carrying a mini fridge in his arms, a few plastic bags dangling heavily from his hands beneath the unwieldy device. Root turned in Finch’s desk chair when she heard him approach and got up to help somehow.

“I’ve got it. I don’t want you to hurt your arm,” John said as he put the mini fridge on the floor and plugged it in. “I brought some stuff in case Fusco and I get held up somewhere.”

Reese held up a couple of bags. Root could see that there was a loaf of bread inside of one of them as he put it down in one of the chairs in the subway car, sorting through and putting some things into the fridge.

“It’s not fancy, but it’s better than nothing,” he said apologetically. He lifted one of the remaining two bags. “I wasn’t sure what to bring for dinner. I thought Shaw might like barbecue?”

Root smiled at him conspiratorially.

“It’s red meat that she can eat like an animal. I’m sure she loves barbecue,” Root reassured him with her eyebrows raised. He smiled back at her and Root realized that for all the times she teased John for being Finch’s pet, he wasn’t all that bad. They actually could get along quite well if John didn’t feel like he had to protect Finch.

“My thoughts exactly,” he said. Then he reached into the last bag. “I also brought a couple bottles of wine. I thought that after spending as much time down here with her as you have, alcohol might be appreciated.”

“Wine and barbecue. That may be a first for me,” Root teased as John pulled out a bottle.

“At least it’s red, to go with the red meat. I always pair my wines correctly,” he joked. He pulled out some paper cups and handed them to her.

“Oh, _now_ it’s a classy party,” Root said sarcastically, taking the cups and putting them on the table.

“I tried,” he said. He genuinely seemed like he wished he knew what else to do. Root was familiar with his position, wondering what to bring to the station to make it less of a prison, and she felt sorry for him.

“I know. Thanks,” Root told him, trying to reassure him.

“Call it a housewarming gift for you two,” he said with a knowing smirk, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Root smirked back but didn’t reply.

It was then that Shaw emerged from the bathroom casually, the towel loosely wrapped around her naked body. When she saw John with Root she tightened the grey cloth around herself and walked brusquely to her stacks of clothes to find something to put on. John quickly looked away from Shaw, but Root let her eyes linger on Shaw’s bare legs when she bent over the clothes to find something. When Shaw stood up and stalked back towards the bathroom, Root looked away and realized that John had been watching her and was smirking at her again, even wider this time.

They sat in silence, Root noticing that John looked tired and a little sullen, until Shaw emerged dressed in pants and a long-sleeved shirt, her hair still damp.

She entered the subway car and Bear got up to greet her.

“I brought barbecue,” John said, handing her a sandwich wrapped in paper. Root watched Shaw’s eyes light up. “I didn’t know what sort of sides you’d want so I got a bunch of different things. You’ve got a fridge now so if it doesn’t all get eaten you can keep some.”

She sat down in one of the chairs and told Bear to go to his bed, which he did mournfully.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I can bring coffee and breakfast if you let me know what to get,” Reese said, getting up and looking like he was readying himself to leave. He reached into the bag of food and took a sandwich.

“You should stay,” Root said. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it. Maybe it was because he looked like he didn’t really _want_ to leave. He seemed to have enjoyed joking around with Root, and thinking of him going back to his empty apartment to eat a lukewarm sandwich made her feel sorry for him. She looked up and saw that Shaw was looking at her incredulously.

“It’s ok, you ladies have a good night,” he said. She was surprised at how unconvincing he was. He seemed grateful that she’d asked him to stay.

“Stay,” Root told him firmly. She picked up the paper cups. “I wouldn’t want you to miss your wine and barbecue pairing.”

John smiled, looking at Bear who was gazing up at him with doleful eyes. John’s eyes then found Shaw’s, who was just curious to see if he’d stay at this point, then back to Root, who smiled at him.

“Ok,” he said, putting the sandwich down and removing his suit coat. Root nodded and handed him one of the bottles of wine to open, then carefully removed the side dishes from the bag. Shaw had already unwrapped her sandwich and was taking over-sized bites.

“This is awesome,” Shaw said through a mouthful of food, barbecue sauce already smeared on her lips. Her tone was as if she couldn’t believe how good the food was. John and Root exchanged a smile because their prediction had been so right. John handed Shaw a paper cup full of wine and she took it with one messy hand.

Root received the next cup from him and took a sip before putting it down and taking the lids off some of the side dishes Reese had brought. The bandages on her hand were less cumbersome now than they had been earlier, but when she moved the arm that had been shot, it still sent a sharp pain through her. She looked up and saw that Shaw’s eyes were on her, dark and attentive. She noticed immediately when Root went to unwrap her sandwich and flinched a little. Shaw swallowed her food.

“Want some help?” Shaw asked, reaching out for Root’s sandwich. Root handed it to her and let her unwrap it for her, handing it back. Shaw didn’t catch the smug little smirk on John’s face because he took a sip of his wine to hide his face.

Shaw ate ravenously while Root and John took their time. After she quickly finished her sandwich, Shaw moved onto sides, digging in with a fork as if she hadn’t eaten for days. Finally, they’d all been satiated, Shaw eating the last piece of cornbread available and sucking her fingers clean with the relish of a lion grooming itself after devouring its kill. John gave Bear some dog food from one of the bags he’d brought and then sipped at his wine, slumping comfortably into his seat.

“We should play poker,” Shaw said. Root smiled over at her affectionately. While it was far from appetizing to watch Shaw devour her food with such gusto, it was also charming to see her unabashedly enjoying something so much. In a lot of ways, Shaw wasn’t as complicated as everyone liked to think. Food and sex. It seemed like Shaw didn’t need much else to be happy.

“I’m in,” Reese said, finishing his cup of wine and opening the second bottle. He poured some into his paper cup and swirled it around a bit. Root sniffed a laugh at him, her eyebrows raised. He smiled back at her, and then said sarcastically, “I’m letting it breath.”

“In a paper cup,” Root mocked him.

“That’s right. In a paper cup,” he repeated, taking a sip and grinning at her. Shaw got up.

“Well aren’t you two just the best of pals,” Shaw grumbled as she went to get the cards. John got up from his chair, picked up the bottle, and followed her towards the cots. Root went as well and saw that Shaw was settling heavily onto one of the little mattresses, dragging the chair nearby between them.

She motioned for John to sit on the other mattress.

“We don’t have a table. We’re using this,” Shaw said, slapping her palm against the seat of the chair.

“Note to self, bring a table,” John said light-heartedly as he sat down on the bed, rolling up his sleeves. Shaw was already shuffling the cards when Root reached the beds, and she hesitated. She wasn’t sure if Shaw would be thrilled with her sitting right next to her with John there. She watched John stretch his arms out, smirking at her as if to say ‘ _I take up so much space, you’re going to want to sit over there_ ’ and she shook her head at how silly he was being. It was unlike him to act this way.

Root wondered if this meant they were friends. She wasn’t used to feeling like she _had_ friends.

“We don’t have chips,” Root said. Shaw shrugged.

“So we play for imaginary points,” she said with a smile.

“Sounds about right,” John said, taking a sip of wine.

Root sat down beside Shaw, who didn’t seem to mind that they were so close together. She glanced over at Root and put down the cards when she saw that the taller woman was holding her arm against her stomach gingerly.

“You ok?” she asked, concern in her voice. Root nodded.

“I haven’t taken any pain meds since this morning. I must have a good doctor,” Root said playfully, wrapping her bad arm around her leg as she pulled it up to her chest. The station’s floor was cold under her bare feet and since she was only wearing shorts she was chilly. Shaw tried her best to stop herself from smiling, taking a drink from her cup, but Root could see the dimple in her cheek and the flash in her eye. It was hard for Root to tear her eyes from Shaw’s face to look at John again, who had picked up the deck and was shuffling it.

He dealt the cards and they started to play.

It was fun to play with these two, Root decided. They were all quite good at bluffing, and they were all savvy when it came to playing poker. Had they been playing sober, they’d have picked up on one another's tells and they probably would have gotten increasingly quick to know who had a good or bad hand, but they weren’t playing sober for very long.

It wasn’t all that long before they’d finished the second bottle of wine and Shaw had gone to get the third, uncorking it as she approached the beds, pouring a generous amount into John’s cup before settling back on the bed. Bear followed her over from the subway car and jumped onto the bed with John, curling up with his head on John’s leg. While John was petting the dog, Shaw poured more wine into Root’s cup.

Root saw Shaw’s eyes on her legs and smiled, intentionally bumping her knee against Shaw’s. Shaw’s eyes immediately met Root’s. Then Shaw reached behind herself and grabbed the blanket that Root had used earlier in the day to keep warm and pulled it clumsily over Root’s lap.

“You look cold,” Shaw mumbled, still trying to get the blanket to lay correctly over Root’s legs to keep her warm. Root smirked and leaned close to Shaw’s ear.

“I can always count on you to warm me up,” she whispered, her cold fingertips finding the bare skin at the small of Shaw’s back where there was a gap between her pants and her shirt. Shaw sat up quickly. Her eyes looked dark, her pupils were dilated, and her cheeks were the slightest bit flushed. She looked over at John, but Reese was very deliberately talking to Bear and giving him an undue amount of attention.

“Should we uh, keep playing?” Shaw asked, her voice a little higher than usual. John nodded in agreement, and the game continued a little longer. But Shaw wasn’t really paying any attention anymore. Root kept catching Shaw looking at her mouth when she should have been looking at what cards had been dealt. Shaw had been doing pretty well before, but she wasn’t winning a single hand now.

“What’s your move, Shaw?” John asked, and Shaw tore her eyes from Root’s face to look at him, confused.

“Hm?” she asked.

“Do you call, raise or fold?” he asked. She barely glanced at her cards, shrugging.

“Call,” she said without any commitment. He chuckled and shook his head, causing her to ask, “What?”

He flipped over his cards and revealed a four of a kind, jacks. Root had already folded, acutely aware that John had a pretty good hand and was confident he would win. Shaw showed her hand and it seemed to dawn on her that she had done very poorly. She had a pair of eights.

Shaw looked perplexed by her own bad hand.

“I think you need to spend less time looking at Root, and a little more time looking at your hand,” John teased. Root could see that Shaw was immediately pissed.

“Let’s play something else,” Root said, putting her hand on Shaw’s knee, hoping to interrupt them from starting to fight because she knew the expression on Shaw’s face, the dark anger, and she didn’t want to end the night with an explosion. Shaw’s eyes looked down at Root’s hand on her knee, the thumb moving back and forth, and she chewed on her bottom lip.

“We should play Never Have I Ever,” John said after a moment of contemplation. Root shook her head.

“What’s that?” she asked. Shaw looked at her skeptically, not believing Root really didn’t know the game (she didn’t), and when their eyes met Root could see Shaw’s jaw tighten to try to stop herself from smiling a little. Root removed her hand from Shaw’s leg and Shaw seemed to miss the contact. She put her hand against the mattress behind her and leaned her weight onto it so that she was in Root’s space a little more than necessary.

“It’s a game. You say something you’ve never done, and it the others have, they drink. If they haven’t, they don’t drink. If you say something you haven’t done and neither of us have done it either, _you_ have to drink,” John explained.

“I haven’t played with that last rule,” Shaw said, almost scolding him.

“Well I suggested the game, so we play my way,” Reese said smugly. Shaw shrugged.

“Whatever,” she said. She tilted her chin up at Root, “You should go first.”

“I’ve never… played this game?” Root said a little uncertainly. Shaw rolled her eyes and took a drink. John drank as well and pointed at Shaw for her to take a turn.

She thought for a second.

“Never have I ever sleep walked. Slept walked? Walked in my sleep?” Shaw fumbled for the best way to phrase her answer.

“Nope,” Root said.

“Me neither,” John said. “So you drink.”

Shaw sighed and took another drink.

“Never have I ever been to Disney World,” John said, clearly thinking he would get one of them to drink. No one did. “Go figure, we _all_ missed out on that childhood dream.”

Shaw chuckled as John drank from his cup. Root had been thinking about her turn while the others were going, so it didn’t take her long to think of something.

“I’ve never worked for the government,” she said. With a smirk, she added, “Not without falsifying documents, anyway.”

John and Shaw both drank, then Shaw looked at the ceiling, swirling her wine in the cup as she thought.

“Never have I ever been to a wedding,” Shaw said. Root shook her head, and John drank.

“You’ve _never_ been to a wedding? Neither of you?” He asked incredulously.

“I was always a little low on friends,” Root joked.

“That makes two of us,” Shaw said gruffly, holding her cup up for Root to tap in a cheers.

“I’ve never smoked marijuana,” John said.

“Yeah right,” Shaw said, disbelieving, leaning forward some so that her shoulder brushed Root’s.

“I haven’t,” John said, a little defensive.

“He _is_ Harold’s Boy Wonder. And Mr. Military. _And_ he just called it 'marijuana',” Root joked. Shaw still looked like she didn’t believe him but took a sip of her wine. Root did the same. Shaw and John both looked at her while she tried to think of something else. It took a minute.

“I’ve never had an STD,” Root said. Neither Shaw nor John drank. “We’re quite the safe little trio.”

She took a drink from her cup, surprised that it was almost empty. Shaw had just emptied hers as well and poured herself more, then offered to give Root more as well. Root extended her cup and Shaw filled it, then handed the bottle across the John. He poured the rest of the wine into his cup while Shaw spoke.

“I’ve never run away,” Shaw said. Root felt her heart sink and she drank, her eyes on the floor. John took a drink too. Shaw seemed to realize she’d gotten too dark and looked up at Root apologetically.

“Never have I ever had a fake ID,” John said. Root and Shaw both scoffed and John reworded it. “I mean as a minor, for alcohol or cigarettes or whatever.”

Shaw shrugged.

“Me neither,” she said, looking over at Root. Root smirked and took a drink, causing Shaw to raise her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as _that_ girl.”

“I definitely wasn’t. I was pulling the amateur version of the kind of identity creation we do now. The only differences are that I was by myself and a teenager,” Root said. Understanding dawned on Shaw’s face as well as admiration.

“Badass,” she said appreciatively. Root smiled playfully, then thought again about what to say next.

“I’m running out of ideas,” Root said. Shaw nodded in agreement. After some thought, Root finally settled on one.

“I’ve never been a girl scout. Or a boy scout,” Root said. John drank right away and Root laughed at him. She almost missed that Shaw took a discreet sip, but John pointed at the shorter woman with mirth in his eyes.

“You’re joking,” Root said, unable to contain her surprise and disbelief. Shaw fidgeted.

“My mom thought it would help build character,” she growled.

“How’d that work out?” John teased, and Shaw sneered at him. After a beat, she came up with her own turn.

“I’ve never had a pregnancy scare, or had the person I was with have a pregnancy scare,” Shaw said. John and Root both shook their heads. “We really _are_ safe. Who knew.”

John thought for a minute, sipping at his wine.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day,” Shaw said, a little more annoyed than was necessary.

“Haven’t we? The last time I checked, we were pretty much _made_ of time,” Root joked. Shaw took a deep breath.

“Don’t remind me,” she mumbled.

John looked like he’d thought of something, a little smirk on his face, and Shaw gave him a frustrated look.

“Yes?” she asked. He sipped his wine.

“I’ve never slept with a man,” he said. Root and Shaw both rolled their eyes and drank. Root wasn’t sure why he still looked so smug, but it was her turn again and she had to stop thinking about John to try to think of another thing to say to get the other two to drink. She could feel Shaw’s eyes on her, and glanced over apologetically.

“I’m trying,” she said, and watched Shaw take a deep breath, her eyes settling with laser focus on Root’s lips. Root bit her lip as if in thought, just to watch Shaw’s eyebrows raise a tiny bit, her lips parting like it was taking everything in her not to close the distance between them and kiss Root. Root looked over at John again, who was looking at the ceiling with an enormous grin on his face.

“What?” Shaw asked aggressively. She’d followed Root’s gaze to John. He looked at Root, then at Shaw.

“It’s enlightening that my turn didn’t present a pretty obvious follow-up,” he said. Root saw immediately that he meant Root hadn’t responded that she’d never slept with a woman. She looked at Shaw, watching her foggy brain’s gears turn and suddenly catch, understanding and anger darkening her expression. Root put her hand on Shaw’s knee again so both she and John would look at her. Once she’d gotten their attention, she smirked like she’d known all along that this was the game.

“It doesn’t mean I’ve slept with _Sam_ ,” Root lied easily, smiling playfully. Then, as if she were revealing a big joke of a secret, she continued. “But you’re right. I _have_ slept with women.”

John didn’t look the least bit surprised. He simply looked like he wasn’t sure if he should believe that Root and Shaw hadn’t slept together. He seemed to settle on disbelief, his eyes meaningfully hovering on Root’s hand on Shaw’s knee. He finished his cup of wine and stood up.

“On that note, I think it’s time for me to go,” he said, rolling his sleeves back down and retrieving his suit coat from the subway car.

“I’ll bring some breakfast by on my way to work,” John said. “Anything in particular you need?”

Shaw’s eyes were on Root, a mix of desire and uncertainty, but she forced herself to turn, look at Reese, and shake her head. Root looked past Shaw at John.

“No, nothing I can think of,” Root said, her tone as lighthearted as ever. He nodded heavily as he pulled on his jacket.

“Drink some water before you uh, get into bed,” John suggested with a little smirk. Shaw narrowed her eyes at him disapprovingly, but Root just smiled back at him. Shaw stood up to push the chair out from between the beds, making busy work for herself, and Root could have sworn that Reese winked at her before turning and walking up the steps.

Shaw had gone off towards the bathroom and returned with cups of water for herself and for Root, faintly tinted red because she’d used the same paper cups that they’d just finished drinking wine from. She sat on the cot that John had occupied and drank her cup quickly, watching Root do the same. Once Root had finished, she and Shaw looked at one another for a long couple of seconds across the gap between the beds. Root could see Shaw’s eyes were dark and she was licking her lips unconsciously, fidgeting like she was a race horse standing at the starting gate, and it made Root wonder if Shaw was waiting for some sort of cue to know it was ok for her to kiss Root.

Right when Root had decided that she would make the first move, Shaw got up suddenly and closed the distance in one fluid motion, her mouth finding Root’s, urgent and desperate.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everyone! Thank you for reading my story and being so kind to me for the past month! I’m realizing my initial goal of finishing this when POI came back probably won’t be met, but hopefully even once the show comes back you’ll want to keep on reading.
> 
> If you're interested, [this is what I was listening to while writing this.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3y9ZNBUChH4UhMcjwRSKqYLe95YRFmuB)
> 
> Sorry this wasn’t posted earlier today! I was taking care of some sick people (food poisoning's a bitch- aren't we supposed to be hungover on new years?)

Shaw’s kiss was ravenous at first, but she quickly slowed. Eventually, she pulled her head back and looked at Root. Her eyes followed her hand as her fingers traced the bridge of Root’s nose, her eyebrows, her jaw, her lips.

“Can I ask you something?” Shaw asked as her fingers closed into a fist and she sat back, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Root’s eyebrows raised microscopically, worried because she could see that Shaw was.

“Anything you want,” Root said, wishing that her body and brain would stop thrumming for a moment so she could think straight. She didn’t drink often; it made her feel vulnerable. She hoped she sounded as airy and unconcerned as usual.

“Are you…” Shaw hesitated, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. It was unlike her to hesitate, and that made Root very curious about what she was trying to get out. Then Shaw rearranged her expression so she looked bored and irritated, summoning courage from the alcohol. “So you uh… play for both teams?”

Root realized what she was being asked and smiled. She didn’t know why this would cause Shaw so much anxiety.

“I don’t care much about labeling myself as one thing or another,” she said. Annoyance darkened Shaw’s face at the cop-out answer. Root wrinkled her nose a little and then continued. “But no, I wouldn’t say I’m bisexual. Obviously, I’d do anything to complete a mission for Her, but I don’t count that.”

Shaw looked perturbed, and Root wondered why Shaw was bothered by what she’d said.

“You’ve never slept with someone because it was the most efficient way to get what you wanted?” Root asked with disdain. Shaw’s anger was clear, but beneath that, Root could tell she was hurt, even as her eyebrows pulled together in frustration.

“So this,” Shaw started, motioning with one hand between them, and then stopped, licking her lips and looking away, her expression faltering for a moment so that Root caught the anxiety in her very clearly although it was quickly masked again by anger. “This is about efficiency.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Root could see that that’s what it was.

“What are you talking about?” Root asked, confused, but starting to see where Shaw was going with this. She was trying to define their relationship. Or whatever it was that they were doing.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I’m not gonna listen to break-up songs or anything,” Shaw said, her words like gravel in her throat. Playing tough. “I just want to make sure we understand each other.”

Root was angry and surprised. Annoyed that they were talking about this, after the last few days had made her feel like they were close. Closer than she’d been to anyone in as long as she could remember.

“If _that’s_ what you think, then we definitely _don’t_ understand each other,” she said finally, her eyebrows pulling upwards. She felt like she’d been sucker-punched, her gut heaving like she might be sick. She couldn’t believe Shaw was so dense.

Root could tell that Shaw wasn’t getting it, and wasn’t sure if it was because Shaw had had too much to drink or if it was because Sameen didn’t know how to accept that someone could _care_ about her. And that she could care about someone in return. Root felt her chest tighten painfully, so wracked with sadness and affection that she was worried she might cry. Because she knew deep down that Shaw _did_ care about her.

“I meant that I sleep with _men_ for the sake of efficiency, first of all,” Root said, her words terse, her voice unsteady. Shaw thought about this for a moment and Root could see the exact point when Shaw’s expression shifted and she realized that Root hadn’t been saying she was straight, she was saying she was _gay_.

“And second,” Root said, “ _This_ …”

Root mimicked the gesture Shaw had made between them, and felt her lower lip tremble. She wanted to finish but wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She wasn’t sure if she was more furious or hurt. And anyway, she had to pause because her throat felt so tight she was afraid she was going to sob if she spoke any more. Her eyes met Shaw’s, darkness connecting with darkness, and she could see that Shaw’s eyes were shining. Root tried to swallow the lump in her throat but couldn’t. She opened her mouth and closed it again, her heart racing.

In the back of her mind, Root wondered if this might be the start of a panic attack.

Shaw opened her mouth as if she was going to say something. But then, instead of speaking, she reached out and took Root’s face in her hands gently, pulling them together again and kissing her, lips soft. Not insistent. An apology. Like she was asking for forgiveness, and this was the only way she knew how.

Shaw’s palms were warm on Root’s cheeks, cradling her head between her fingers. Root immediately felt the panic in her throat dissipate, the sensation that she was being strangled lessening with every gentle movement of Shaw’s mouth on her own.

She tasted like wine.

Root wondered fleetingly if she should stop Shaw, finish their conversation. But then she realized that she didn’t _want_ to finish the conversation. She didn’t want to allow Shaw the opportunity to tell her she didn’t think they should do this anymore.

And she knew that Shaw didn’t want to talk either. Not really. Yes, she’d brought this up, but she’d also effectively maneuvered the conversation from words into actions. Shaw didn’t talk about her emotions. Root doubted she knew how. This, kissing, Shaw’s hands reassuring on either side of her face, was as close as Shaw was willing to get to admitting she had feelings.

As tenderly as her alcohol-induced daze allowed, Shaw laid Root back against the pillows. Root felt fragile and embarrassed when she winced, her shot arm crumpling under her weight when she tried to lean against it. Shaw noticed and tried to back away to let Root move past the pain, but Root took hold of her with her bandaged hand and pulled them together, kissing her again. Shaw accepted the action gladly.

Root wanted to be on top of Shaw, to push her into the pillows and put her mouth on every inch of Shaw’s body, wanted to press her fingers into Shaw’s skin hard enough to bruise her. How could she not know that Root cared about her? How could Shaw be so stupid? Root hated that her arm hurt and she couldn’t possibly hold herself up to do the things she wanted to do. But she did what she could; holding onto Shaw with her good arm, her bandaged fingers tight on the back of Shaw’s neck.

She could feel the muscles in Shaw’s shoulders moving as she tried not to let her weight crush Root. Root didn’t want that distance, she wanted their bodies connected. Wanted as much contact as she could get. She arched up into Shaw, pulling the weight of her body up off the bed with her arm around Sameen’s shoulders, trying to force the shorter woman to relax her body into Root’s. Shaw finally gave in, their chests pressing together hard.

Then Shaw’s hands slid under Root’s shirt and up her sides, fingers spread to touch as much skin as possible, and Root kicked the blanket from between them. Shaw pushed herself up to pull Root’s shirt off, forgetting for a wine-fogged moment that Root’s arm was still quite sore. When Root flinched, Shaw shifted and kissed the inside of Root’s upper arm, cradling the bandaged elbow in her hands.

Root reached over Shaw’s head to her shoulders, taking a fistful of her shirt and pulling it upwards to get her to take it off. Shaw did, tearing the shirt off over her head and dropping it to the side as fast as she could, then closed the gap between them again. Root wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of Shaw’s face before she dipped her head to kiss Root’s chest, the same bra she’d worn yesterday and the day before. Root tried to pull Shaw up to look into her eyes again but Shaw buried her face against Root’s shoulder, pressing a hard kiss against Root’s throat.

Root firmly put her hand on the back of Shaw’s neck, pulling away from the darker woman, demanding she look at her. When Sameen finally looked her in the eye, she looked _happy_. That wasn’t what Root had expected at all. She gave Sameen a questioning look and she watched Shaw cautiously smile back at her, her closed lips both pleased and a little sad simultaneously. And bashful? Shaw tipped her head down and kissed Root again, hesitant. Root stopped her, wanting to address the abrupt change.

But she still didn’t know what to say. And she wasn’t sure what response she was hoping for. Because again, she _didn’t_ want to talk about it. She just knew that they should. Part of her wanted desperately for Shaw to understand that she cared for her, deeply, and she didn’t know if Shaw really knew that despite everything that had happened between them.

Shaw’s smile faltered and her eyebrows pulled together a tiny bit.

“Not tonight,” she pleaded, her words slurring together a little. Root thought to herself that come morning, when Shaw wasn’t drunk and horny, they might have to actually discuss whatever this was. This might be the last time she got to kiss and touch and hold Sameen. And maybe that would be for the best, because there was no future that Root could see where they ended up together. That wasn’t how either one of them operated, and that didn’t seem plausible with each day seeming to bring them closer to the destruction of the Machine and everything else.

But for now, Root wanted to forget about all of that. Just for the night.

She pulled Shaw’s mouth to hers again, and Shaw grabbed at Root’s hips, one hand making its way under Root, scrambling for traction on the slick running shorts. When her fingers slipped, unable to pull Root to her as tightly as she wanted to, Shaw pulled the shorts down, leaning back to look at Root in the underwear that she’d chosen earlier.

Root could see the look of pleasure emerging in Shaw’s features again, uninhibited and adoring as she ran her hands from Root’s knees up her thighs to the boxer briefs. Root watched the hint of a smile on her lips, the bright desire in the dark eyes that moved over Root’s body like they were reading a map, trying to memorize the hills and valleys.

Root wanted to reach out to her, to hold them together and kiss that smiling mouth. She didn’t have the chance to so much as extend her hand. Sameen had met her gaze and moved up her body quickly, their lips coming together.

Blindly, Root fumbled with the button on Shaw’s pants, her bandaged hand and the wine making her clumsy but Shaw offered no assistance. It took Root a minute, but finally she succeeded and tried to push the pants down off of Shaw’s hips. When she couldn’t get them off of Shaw, struggling against the fabric, Root abandoned her attempts and instead pushed her hand in the back of Shaw’s pants, pulling her close when Shaw pressed her pelvis into Root’s, their legs interlocking.

Shaw reached around to Root’s back and her fingers were rough against Root’s spine as she fought the clasp of Root’s bra. Root could feel Shaw’s frustration in her kiss, their teeth connecting hard, then those straight white teeth closed on Root’s bottom lip. Her bra fell away, and Shaw quickly followed it with her own, then shoved her pants down her legs with frantic energy, scrambling to get rid of their underwear with Root trying to help, her bandaged hand not as nimble as Shaw’s. Shaw moved back to grind against Root.

The pleasure of the contact made Root’s eyes press shut and she sank her teeth into Shaw’s shoulder, clinging to her. She could feel the heat of Shaw’s body on her, falling into a perfect rhythm. Shaw’s breathing was heavy against Root’s temple as they moved together, Root’s wounded hand on Shaw’s hip to keep the contact just there. Puzzle pieces. Cut to fit together.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, she’d lost all sense of seconds or minutes or hours with Shaw’s hands and mouth on her, her own mouth and her hand on Shaw.

Shaw’s hips bucked and faltered before Root’s. Root watched Shaw’s jaw clenching, her breaths bursting out from between her grinding teeth. Root kept moving, clutching Shaw against her because she was so close to joining Shaw. The muscles in Shaw’s forehead pulled, her eyes shut, her chest and back tightening desperately, and Root saw and felt all of it. But it was the look in Shaw’s eyes when she opened them and looked into Root’s that sent Root careening over the edge. Like Root was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like- like something that Root didn’t have a name for. Those eyes so dark and big and full of something sweet and affectionate and caring.

Root forced her eyes to stay open while she fell apart under Shaw’s body.

She didn’t want to miss a single moment of the look that Shaw was giving her. Hopeful and afraid. Tonight, they were ok. More than ok.

Root kissed Shaw when she could breath again, her hand on Shaw’s face, the tape on her hand catching in Shaw’s hair and she had to pull it loose but immediately found Shaw’s cheek again. With sore fingers she caressed Sameen, elated every time their eyes met and Sameen’s look poured into her heart like a waterfall and she could feel that warm delight in her chest, expanding until she was full to bursting.

Sameen carefully lifted herself off of Root’s chest, laying shoulder to shoulder with her on the tiny mattress, her breathing still heavy. But Root didn’t want to be apart from Shaw. If this was the last time she would get to lay with Shaw, she wanted to be _with_ her, fully. She didn’t care about Shaw’s dislike of cuddling. She didn’t care about her wounded arm.

She rolled on top of Shaw and was a little surprised when Shaw just kissed her fondly and put her arms around Root’s body, cradling Root on top of her bare chest.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been given 'kudos' by over 700 people! That is insanely nice, and I can't believe this has even been _read_ by that many people, much less been given positive feedback by that many! I want to thank every single one of you- I love you guys. Seeing the same names pop up in the comments every few days makes me giddy. Thanks for sharing this with other fans of the show, and thanks for taking the time to read all of this!

Root wasn’t sure what had awoken her. She was still tucked heavily on top of Sameen, and before she had remembered the uncertainty of the future of their situation, she was placing a kiss on that perfect collar bone. Sameen started to stir, and her hands moved from Root’s back down her spine, Root’s skin cold because they’d fallen asleep without the blanket. Sleepily, Sameen’s fingers cupped the curve of Root’s ass, pulling her closer. Root placed a trail of kisses from Sameen’s collar bone to her neck, and Sameen, eyes still closed, turned her head and pursed her lips a little, asking without words for Root to kiss her. Root did, and delighted in the low groan of pleasure that rumbled deep in Sameen’s throat when Root pulled her full lower lip into her mouth.

Something made a noise from the direction of the subway car.

A footstep.

Root froze, a chill of fear shooting up her back and paralyzing her. Shaw’s hands gripped Root’s biceps, hard, then she was suddenly in motion, flipping Root over effortlessly. Root gasped in pain when she caught some weight with her wounded arm, tucking it to her chest as she scrambled to get up.

“Stay behind me,” Shaw growled, looking directly into Root’s eyes commandingly, and Root could see fear in the darkness. Shaw reached one arm under the edge of the flimsy mattress near the pillow and emerged with a folding knife that she flipped open with a single fluid flick of the wrist as she rounded on the intruder. She reached back with her free hand, pushing Root to keep her squarely behind her on the bed, then she seemed to grow with adrenaline, arms out, fists tight, shoulders back like an animal puffing up its chest to look bigger than it really was, her legs and feet already under her like she was preparing to launch herself at the assailant. It had been mere seconds since they were kissing sleepily, and Shaw was already in full battle mode.

Root couldn’t see past Shaw because the shorter woman’s posture was so effectively blocking her. She could only see Shaw’s ribcage expanding and contracting with big deep breaths, her muscles tight and strong under her brown skin.

Then, as suddenly as Sameen had leapt into action, her body both a weapon and a shield, she relaxed again, her muscles loosening, arms dropping some. She sat down on the bed, her back bumping Root’s knees, which she’d tucked up to her chest in a feeble attempt to protect herself. Shaw closed the knife again and crossed her arms over her knees as she sat back, still keeping her body fully between Root and the source of the noise.

“Good morning to you too.”

It was Reese’s voice, tired but tinged with amusement. Root peered past Shaw’s shoulder and saw him, looking apologetic and worn out. He was holding a cardboard sleeve with some to-go coffee cups in it and a paper bag, the top folded down.

“I’ll trade you,” he joked, holding the food out like a peace offering. Even as sleep-deprived as he was, he still looked very put-together in his suit, ready to work.

“Damn it, Reese, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Shaw said, her voice hoarse in her throat. She dropped the closed knife onto the bed and leaned her weight back against Root’s legs, rubbing her face with her hands.

Root could see that Reese was looking at his wrist watch.

“You didn’t look scared to me,” John joked. “Although I have to say, getting into a knife fight when you’re naked? Not _particularly_ smart.”

He made eye contact with Root since Sameen still had her hands over her face, trying to calm herself down. Root could see the little smirk on John’s face, the triumphant gleam in his eyes that said he knew he’d been right the night before. Root felt anxious under his gaze. It wasn’t that he was doing anything untoward; he stayed far from the bed and was only looking at Root’s eyes. No, she was anxious because it hadn’t really occurred to her that she should be worried about someone finding the subway station. Sameen, on the other hand, had been ready. It seemed like she was probably just waiting for something to happen. It made Root wonder if they should arm Shaw with more than the knife she’d been hiding. There hadn’t seemed to be a reason before, but now Root saw how stupid it was to think that way.

Root felt her stomach churn unpleasantly from the over-indulgence in wine. She hadn’t noticed when she was still half-asleep, but now that she’d been jerked around, she couldn’t avoid the discomfort of both her slight hangover and the nagging remembrance of the exchange she and Sameen had shared. The anxiety crept over her body, taking hold of her gut.

“I brought you some bagels with eggs and sausage. I needed something heavy after last night, figured you might as well,” John said, turning and heading into the subway car. Root could hear dog food rattling into Bear’s metal bowl.

Shaw uncovered her face, one hand dropping to her side, fingers curling around Root’s cold foot, close to Shaw’s hip since the shorter woman was still leaning against Root’s shins.

They sat silently for a minute, then John reappeared.

“I may not be able to make it back here at lunch time, but Fusco or I will bring you dinner,” John told them, his eyes on the open doorway of the subway car. Bear followed him out onto the platform, licking his chops contentedly. “I’ll take Bear too, if you don’t mind.”

“They let you bring him to the station?” Root asked. Shaw’s thumb gently rubbed the top of Root’s foot where she was cradling it in her hand. Even if John had been looking at them, the action was hidden from his view by their bodies.

“No,” John said simply, kneeling to put the leash on Bear. “I’m not going to the station today.”

“Where are you going?” Shaw asked, perking up with interest. John stood up and looked at them over his shoulder as he turned to head up the stairs. Root hunched her shoulders subconsciously, feeling very exposed even though he could really only see her knees and her face because of her wounded arm on her chest and Shaw’s torso. She was still very deliberately keeping her body in front of Root’s, unabashed in her own nudity but seeming determined to keep Root from John's eyes.

“I’ve got some other business to take care of,” he replied cryptically. He turned his head back away from them. “Root, do you want me to get some of your clothes from… wherever it is you live?”

Root didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t really have a place that she regularly returned to- the Machine tended to provide her with information on where to sleep on any given night. And if She didn’t, Root was resourceful. So she didn’t really have a closet full of clothes somewhere; the Machine took care of her outfits for her, finding ways to deliver the appropriate attire for any given cover. The Machine hadn’t given her any sign that She was there since She’d led Root to Shaw’s apartment. Root had been avoiding thinking about that.

But now, there was a familiar voice in her ear. Root shuddered a sigh of relief as she listened to Her.

“Tell Fusco that the laundry that was delivered to his place is for me,” Root said once the Machine was finished giving her instructions. She felt more self-assured than she had in days. John gave a sidelong glance over his shoulder.

“Sorry I walked in on you,” he said after a beat.

Then he was walking up the stairs with his cup of coffee in one hand and Bear’s lead in the other.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he said when he was out of sight, his last words echoing in the stairwell, too loud.

Just like that, he was gone. Shaw took a deep breath, and reached behind her, gently pulling at Root’s shins to part them. Root let her feet be separated, then Shaw moved backwards between Root’s knees. Root lifted her wounded arm out of the way with surprised pleasure as Sameen leaned back against her chest, tenderly reaching for Root’s wounded arm to wrap it around her shoulders, kissing the bandage at Root’s elbow.

“John’s right. Going at somebody with a knife when you’re naked isn’t exactly a good idea,” Root joked, not sure what else to say. Shaw kissed the inside of Root’s wrist, leaving her lips against the moon-pale skin. She didn’t say anything, but Root waited, hoping that she was just thinking of how she wanted to reply.

“Thank you,” Root said quietly after it had been a long while and it was clear that Sameen wasn’t going to talk. With her bandaged hand, Root ran a hand up Shaw’s arm to her shoulder, pushing the dark silky hair out of the way so she could kiss Shaw’s bare shoulder. “I froze, but you… If it hadn’t been Reese-”

“I know,” Sameen said quickly, cutting Root off. She turned her head to look at Root, whose chin was still on Shaw’s shoulder. Root shifted her head and saw the relief in Shaw’s eyes before she shut them, turning her head further and leaning back to kiss Root's mouth.

Root snaked her good arm around Shaw, hugging them together.

“When was the last time you heard from Her?” Sameen asked. Root wondered if Shaw had known about the radio silence all along.

“She sent me to your apartment when I was shot,” Root said. Shaw opened her eyes.

“Does She do that often? Not talk to you for days?” Sameen asked, and Root took her time replying.

“She has to be careful,” Root said, not fully answering the question because she didn’t like to think about how far apart the moments she heard Her voice were these days.

“So, if you don’t hear from Her, you’ll stay here while your arm’s healing.” It wasn’t a question that Sameen was asking, she was _telling_ Root to stay. Her voice was somber.

“Until Reese or Fusco need me. Or if we hear from Finch,” Root said.

“ _When_ we hear from Finch,” Shaw corrected, turning between Root’s legs so that one of Root’s legs was across her lap, the other behind her back. Root could see Shaw’s slight frown.

“You worried about Atticus?” Root asked playfully. She was met by a look of confusion, and she realized that Shaw didn’t get her reference. She smirked. “Atticus Finch? The father in _To Kill a Mockingbird_?”

“Sorry I’m not up to date on my classic literature,” Shaw grumbled, her eyes darkening in annoyance.

“I’d feel a lot better about it if I knew where he is and what he’s doing,” she continued. Root could tell that Sameen really was worried, and she felt bad for teasing her. She extended her bandaged hand to take Shaw’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I haven’t heard anything from Her. That means he’s alright,” Root said, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt. It seemed like Shaw believed Root’s words, because her mouth twitched a little into a smile. “Plus, he’s not confronting anyone yet. He’s just gathering information.”

Shaw’s spine straightened as she sat up a bit, her eyebrows raising just enough to show that she had just come to realize something.

“He’s planning something insane, isn’t he?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising. Root raised her own eyebrows back at Shaw, then pulled her legs free from Shaw’s body to get up, turning away as she stood, her shot arm throbbing as it hung by her side. Shaw’s hands grabbed the elbow of Root’s good arm and her waist on the other side, conscious of the wounds on Root’s body even as she was forcing her to stay still.

“ _Root._ ”

Root’s heart leapt into her throat when Shaw said her name. Shaw turned her around and Root saw how large and dark Sameen’s eyes were, filled with fear as they searched Root’s face. She could barely look at those eyes. She felt like she was burning under their gaze. But she also found she couldn’t look away, even when she turned her head, her eyes stayed locked on Shaw’s.

“He’s ok,” Root told her. Shaw got up too, her hands still on Root’s body as she looked up at her.

“Why are you keeping me in the dark? I’m _already_ in the dark down here,” Shaw said, gesturing with her chin at the subway station around her.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Root said apologetically. This didn’t do anything to calm Shaw down. “I’m just trying to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Shaw said, losing her temper. Then she reeled her anger back in as quickly as the venomous words had spilled from her.

Root watched the process of Shaw rearranging her face from fury into something softer. She was like a computer, sorting through code to find the right lines to respond to a specific stimulus. Finding the desired file and displaying the contained information. Shaw’s eyebrows shifted on her forehead from irritation to tenderness, her mouth from a scowl to an inviting little smile. She took a step forward, too close to Root. Root could see through the coy facade. It was nothing more than a pretty picture to display to reach an objective.

Root’s stomach churned again, hot with nausea, and it took her a second to understand why. The words from their conversation the night before returned to her.

 _This_ was about efficiency.

“We’ve been here before, Sam. Or don’t you remember? It ended with me drugging you,” Root said, her voice stern. She looked down at Shaw angrily, watching the saccharine expression fade back into fury.

In her ear, the voice of the Machine informed Root that games were being set up globally, much like the one that had caused Claire Mahoney to become a number weeks ago. Root felt a pang of worry, but was reassured that the games were intended to find individuals to help with Finch’s plan. Perhaps without realizing they were doing so.

“What?” Shaw asked. She took her hands off of Root, looking over her wounds like she was worried she’d hurt her. When she’d determined she hadn’t done anything to make Root freeze, she seemed to realize that the Machine was speaking to Root again. “What’s wrong? What’s She saying?”

“If I tell you _anything_ , you have to _promise_ that you won’t get involved unless we tell you to,” Root said once the Machine had finished relaying information to her.

She could tell that Shaw was thinking this over, her lips pursing. Root waited.

“Yeah. Okay,” Shaw said finally, and Root could tell that Shaw had decided she would do whatever she damn well pleased. But despite what Finch had told her about keeping Shaw out of the loop, Root had a nagging feeling that it was better to tell her _something_ than nothing at all.

“Finch is looking for Samaritan’s other servers,” Root told her.

“I thought you said there were too many of them,” Sameen said, shaking her head in disbelief. Root raised her eyebrows, hoping she didn’t seem too worried.

“She’s doing Her best to help with that,” Root said. She could tell that Shaw was at a loss. There really _wasn’t_ anything she could do with that information. Root turned away, picking her clothes up off the ground and putting Shaw’s on the bed.

Sameen was motionless.

“What does that mean?” Shaw asked finally, turning to watch Root carefully pull her shirt on, wincing when it caught on her elbow. Root finished dressing and stepped towards Shaw, holding out her underwear.

“For the time being, it means you and I stay put,” Root told her. She turned away from Shaw then, heading into the subway car for her coffee and food, hoping it would calm her stomach.

She had sat down to eat her sandwich when Shaw appeared in the doorway, dressed in the same clothes she'd worn the day before. She took her own food out of the paper bag and sat down in the seat beside Root’s, putting her coffee down at her feet. They ate in silence, neither one looking at the other.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Sorry if the last one confused some of you, writing this quickly doesn't leave me much time for editing. I _think_ this one clears things up.

Root showered on her own this time. It was nice to feel like she didn’t have to rely on Sameen for everything. It also gave her some time to think.

As she let the water run over her face and neck, pounding into the tender bruises on her head, her stomach calmed. This was in part because the hot shower was improving her hangover, and in part because she was thinking through her last few conversations with Sameen.

She thought about Shaw’s question the night before- asking if their closeness, their sex, was a matter of Root getting what she needed. It had been a stupid question, because Root had thought it was very clear that she liked Shaw, what with the constant flirting. And then this morning, watching Shaw shape shift from fiery anger to sugar sweet, had come as a blow. Because it wasn’t Root that had been seducing Shaw with ulterior motives. It was _Shaw_ that was trying to manipulate _Root_. It had crushed Root, although she would never admit it out loud.

As she sat down in the subway car with her coffee, she had thought to herself that it shouldn’t bother her that Shaw was just using her to get what she wanted. The fact that it _did_ bother her probably meant she should end things. It would only hurt worse the more she let herself get attached to Sameen. To Shaw. It was easier for Root to distance herself if she thought of her as ‘Shaw’ instead of ‘Sameen’.

But then Shaw had followed her into the subway and sat down in the seat right next to her. They weren’t touching or speaking, but it was comforting to feel Shaw so close. Reassuring. Like Shaw was trying to bridge the gap between them but didn’t quite know how, or if she even should. That made Root second-guess her decision to stop whatever it was they were doing.

And now, alone in the shower, gingerly trying to work shampoo into her hair with one hand, Root paused and leaned her arm, the one with the bullet wound that she was instructed to keep dry, against the wall.

Elation was creeping up on her as she thought about the manipulation that Shaw had tried to pull that morning. Because it had been _so obvious_ that she was trying to get what she wanted. And Root had only seen that from Shaw one other time- when she was trying to get Root to tell her where John and Finch were instead of being shepherded to the subway station to go into hiding. No other time had Shaw tried to work Root’s emotions that way. When they were by themselves, Shaw caring for Root tenderly, or shoving Root into the mattress with animosity and arousal, or leaping up to be a human shield when there was a possibility of an attack, there was no falseness in those actions. Shaw was blunt. Straight-forward in a distant, hard-to-reach way. Yes, that first time they had slept together, Root had thought that Shaw was going to run away as soon as Root let her guard down. But she _hadn’t_ run. And when she realized that’s what Root expected from her, she was _wounded_.

Root felt happy because as far as she could tell, Shaw really _was_ just dense. Root reviewed all of this, double checking her memories to make sure she wasn’t missing something. She turned off the water and reached for the towel with a grin on her face.

She just needed to make Sameen understand. Make her see that Root cared about the ex-assassin.

When she opened the bathroom door, Root couldn’t see any sign of Shaw. Her heart skipped a beat.

But she walked to the door of the subway car in the towel and there she was, of course. Shaw was sitting in one of the built-in chairs, turning something in the palm of one hand, a funny look on her face. When she looked up and saw Root approaching, she quickly closed her fingers and stood up, palming whatever it was she’d been holding and shoving it into her pocket. Root could see that Shaw was deep in thought.

“Let me make sure your wounds look good,” Shaw said distractedly, walking towards Root. Root followed her back into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet lid, lifting her shot elbow for Shaw to take a look at. Root watched her face curiously, wondering what had Shaw so unsettled. She could feel her heart expanding again, and wanted to grab Shaw and laugh and tell her that they were okay. But Shaw looked serious, so Root steeled herself for the coming conversation.

“What are you thinking about?” Root asked finally as Shaw prodded at the wound. Shaw looked up at her and shook her head.

“Nothing. Just,” Shaw paused and shrugged, “just thinking.”

Root smirked at her.

“Right. But about what?” she asked playfully. Shaw looked up at her, eyes dark with annoyance. Root could tell she wasn’t going to get an answer.

“Well, I’ve been thinking too,” Root said, smirking a little as Shaw bumped her bare knee.

“Yeah?” Shaw asked, not really listening as she started to tape gauze over Root’s elbow again.

“Mhmm,” Root replied, putting her cold foot on the thigh of Shaw’s dark jeans. She could feel something small and hard in Shaw’s pocket under the ball of her foot and remembered that Shaw had been holding something when Root had walked into the subway car. Shaw glanced up at her again, paying a little more attention now, looking confused and somewhat surprised. “I was thinking about you. About us.”

Now she _really_ had Shaw’s attention. She’d stopped pressing the tape onto Root’s skin and was just looking up at her, worried.

“I know that you’re not really into the whole _feelings_ thing,” Root said, leaning forward so that her smirking mouth was close to Shaw’s, her good elbow resting on her knee, the towel wrapped around her torso falling open just enough that she knew there was a long strip of bare skin down her side. Shaw’s eyes didn’t move from Root’s own, huge and dark. “But I also know you care about me.”

“You don’t know me,” Shaw said dismissively, shaking her head. Root could see her constructing emotional barricades between them, distancing herself, even though she hadn’t actually backed away at all. Looking up at the ceiling, Root’s smile widened and she tilted her head to the side.

“The thing is, Sam,” Root said, slowly looking back at Shaw’s face, “I care about you too.”

Root watched Shaw’s throat bob and her eyebrows raise a tiny bit.

“I actually _like_ being down here. I like being around you,” Root said, chuckling a little as she spoke. She could see that Shaw wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Her hands were motionless on Root’s arm, her mouth shut tight. Root reached up with the hand that had been near Shaw’s stomach, elbow between Shaw’s fingers, and touched Shaw’s cheek, smiling conspiratorially.

“So. Now you know. I care about you. And, this thing that we’re doing, whatever it is, whatever you want to call it…” Root paused, watching Shaw’s lips part. “I’m not scratching an itch, or following an order. I’m here because I want to be here.”

Sameen closed her mouth again, her eyes bright black and almost sad, looking up at Root in the same way that Root had seen the night before. That unnamable affection and softness that was only for Root to see. Then Shaw’s mouth opened, she licked her lips, jaw opening and then partially closing uncertainly as she looked for the right words to say. She looked away then, down at Root’s foot, still sitting on her thigh. Root let her hand fall from Shaw’s cheek.

“I don’t like worrying about you,” Shaw said, so quietly that Root almost didn’t hear her. Root wondered for a moment if she’d miscalculated somehow, if all of this had been stupid, and she was now going to be dismissed completely.

“You scare me. _This_ scares me,” Shaw continued, her voice low. “I’m not saying I don’t want to keep… doing this. I do.”

Shaw paused, then raised herself up some, Root’s foot falling from her leg, and dug her hand into her pocket where Root had felt the hard piece of whatever it was. Shaw lowered herself again between Root’s knees and looked at her closed fist for a second. After a beat, she opened her hand. It was the little medal- the one that Root had picked up in Shaw’s apartment on a whim.

“This was in your pocket. When Reese brought you here,” Shaw said, pausing as she brushed her thumb over the image of Lenin.

“It was in your apartment,” Root said. “What is it?”

Shaw looked up at Root curiously.

“I thought the Machine must have told you already,” Shaw said. Root shrugged and shook her head a tiny bit. Shaw looked back at the medal. “Why did you take it?”

“I guess because you don’t have any extraneous things in your apartment. Except this. So either it has significance to you, or it belongs to someone who shouldn’t have been there,” Root explained. Shaw nodded, pulling her lower lip into her mouth as she pressed her thumb against the hammer and sickle.

“A kid gave it to me. She was a number,” Shaw said. Root waited for her to offer more of an explanation, but none came. Eventually Shaw looked up at her. 

“Look, I’m not wired for this. I’m not good at feelings. The kid who gave this to me, she got it right. The feelings are there, I just…” Shaw paused, looking back at her hand, shaking her head, “The volume’s turned down. And I’m not good at listening.”

“Can I be honest with you?” Root asked. Shaw looked up at her, cautiously curious, and gave a short nod of her head. Root’s smile was apologetic. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re just scared of what might happen if you let yourself feel things.”

Shaw stiffened and looked angrily back down, and Root reached out and put her hand over the Order of Lenin medal in Shaw’s palm.

“I’m not asking you to do anything, or be anything,” Root said, reassuring the woman kneeling between her legs. “But I want you to remember that I care about you when things get bad.”

Shaw kept her eyes on Root’s hand, still covering her own.

“And Sameen, things _will_ get bad,” Root said. Shaw met Root’s gaze momentarily, acknowledging the severity of the statement.

“I’m going to disappoint you. No matter what your expectations are, I’m going to fail you. It’s just how I am,” Shaw said. Root wrapped her fingers around Shaw’s.

“Okay,” she said with a little smile. Shaw looked confused when she tipped her chin up to look at the woman sitting on the toilet, and Root tilted her head to one side light-heartedly. “You’re assuming we survive long enough for me to be disappointed.”

“I don’t plan on dying any time soon,” Shaw said, determination hardening her features. “And you’d better not do anything stupid to get yourself shot again.”

Root just smiled at her. She knew she couldn’t make any promises. Shaw gave her a stern look. “I _will_ come and find you. So if you want me to stay down here in this god damn cave, don’t give me a reason to go up there.”

“I’ll do my best,” Root said, playing it off like she was just flirting. But she knew her smirk didn’t reach her eyes, and she could tell that Shaw had noticed because she seemed to have been appeased for the moment.

They sat in silence for a few long seconds, then Shaw shifted her weight and took Root’s other hand in hers, the one with the knuckles that had been busted open against the pavement and broken glass. Sameen kept the medal in the palm of one hand while she pulled at the skin around the glued cuts with other.

“Your hand looks good,” Shaw sounded pleased. Root flexed her fingers into a fist in Shaw’s hold, testing out the motion. It didn't feel great, but it certainly hurt less than before. The skin was healing up surprisingly quickly.

Shaw gently drug the pad of her middle finger down the dip of undamaged flesh between Root’s knuckles to the crease between her first and second fingers, then rubbed back up between the knuckles, more firmly this time. Root knew that Shaw was probably just testing how pliable the skin was, seeing if it hurt and if the glue was holding the flesh together, but Root found herself thinking of other things. The strong, deliberate motion of Shaw’s finger against the dark crease where her fingers met made Root’s stomach flip, thinking of those fingers on other dark crevices of her body.

“I don’t even think it needs a bandage anymore,” Shaw said. Root was jerked out of her fantasy, but not fast enough. Shaw looked up at her with a satisfied expression that wavered when they made eye contact.

“That’s good news. I’ve been missing being able to use my hands,” Root said suggestively. She smirked and opened her fingers, letting Shaw’s slide between hers. Shaw’s eyebrow raised a little at Root’s tone, like she wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed or amused. Root put her foot on Shaw’s thigh again.

“You tazed me,” Shaw said, her words clipped.

“Twice,” Root corrected her, fighting a smirk and losing. Shaw shook her head.

“No, I mean, the day I got this,” she said, opening her hand again and flipping the medal in her fingers. “That night, you tazed me. Drugged me.”

Root’s smile faltered and faded as she saw how somber Shaw was getting. But then, Shaw’s own mouth twitched upward at the corner again.

“That whole time, breaking into the CIA safe house, cutting the grate in the sewer… you annoyed the crap out of me,” she said, the hint of smile still there but her eyes dark with irritation. Root wasn’t sure what to expect next. “That was fun.”

Root’s eyebrows raised and she smiled, tentatively at first, but when Shaw’s eyes lightened to match her smiling mouth, Root gained confidence.

“Well, I know how you like playing rough,” she teased, smirking when Shaw rolled her eyes. “You let Harold lock me up after that little escapade.”

Shaw didn’t look particularly remorseful.

“You deserved that,” she said. “I didn’t do anything to earn the kidnapping.”

“I was doing what She asked me to do,” Root said. Shaw put the medal down on the floor between her legs and lifted herself up onto her knees, her hands finding Root’s calves to steady herself. Root’s breath caught in her throat.

“No hard feelings,” Shaw mumbled, smiling. She still seemed nervous.

“Are we naming this? The thing that we’re doing?” Root asked, wondering if that’s what had Shaw looking anxious.

“I don’t do the whole ‘having-a-girlfriend’ thing,” she said. She didn’t seem annoyed, which Root took as a good sign.

“What about ‘boyfriend’?” Root teased. She was testing the waters, seeing if Shaw would give her some sense of her past. Shaw smirked.

“It's been a very long time,” she said with mirth in her eyes. She let her hands drift up Root’s legs to her bare thighs. Root could see that there was still a nervousness under Shaw’s actions, and she figured they were on a roll as far as actually talking about things went so she knew she should just ask. She took a deep breath.

“Why are you nervous?” Root asked. Shaw blinked.

“I’m not,” she said, too quickly. Root raised her eyebrows knowingly and Shaw looked a little embarrassed and annoyed. Root tilted her head flirtatiously, putting her hands on top of Shaw’s on her thighs, waiting for an answer. She watched Shaw swallow. “Every time I touch you, I worry it could be the last time.”

The honesty of the words struck Root deep, resonating down to her core. Her heart leapt into her throat. Shaw’s eyes were enormous and sad, looking up at Root fondly. There was nothing Root could say. Shaw was right to worry.

Root bent, cupped Shaw’s face in her shaking hands, and kissed her. A new kiss. A kiss that asked that there be more kisses. Hoped for it.

A tear escaped from Root’s eye, rolling down her cheek, salty on her tongue. Sameen must have tasted it too, because she pulled away.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, looking earnestly into Root’s eyes. “You’re okay.”

Root smiled and kissed her again.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very glad that you all thought that last chapter seemed authentic! Thanks for all of the comments and kudos!

Shaw kissed Root affectionately and moved her hands up Root’s thighs, fingers brushing the edge of the towel. It was barely long enough for Root to sit on top of it on the lid of the toilet.

Root had to bend over to be able to kiss Shaw, and when Shaw pushed her gently to get her to lean back, it meant that Shaw’s face was barely level with Root’s chest.

And then Root was distracted by the Machine. She had decided now was the time to update Root. Shaw was stretching as far as she could to kiss Root’s neck. _Finch was no longer in London._ Shaw pulled the towel from around Root’s chest with one hand. Root wondered if she should stop Shaw, because the Machine was sure to know what was happening and that felt odd to Root. _Finch was in Osaka._ Root shut her eyes and tried to focus on the Machine. Shaw was kissing Root’s bare chest. _Finch was safe._ Root was definitely focusing on Shaw. Her lips were so soft on Root’s skin, the lightest touch as she exhaled on Root’s nipple. Perfect. _Daizo had been sent by the Machine to meet Finch._ Good news. Shaw’s hand was moving the towel out from between her chest and Root’s hips. _They were doing reconnaissance work to learn more about Samaritan’s presence in Japan._ Root reached out to stop Shaw because she was afraid she would miss something from the Machine.

Shaw looked up at Root when she felt her hand on her head, and must have seen the concern in Root’s face because she stretched her head up again to be as close to Root’s face as her position would allow.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Shaw asked. The Machine had finished speaking. Root hadn’t missed anything She had said. She wished she’d waited just a second longer before reaching out to Shaw and stopping her.

Root put her hand on the back of Shaw’s neck, leaning forward to kiss Sameen’s head, tipping her face down to breath against Shaw’s hair. She felt exhausted suddenly.

“Finch is still alright,” Root explained. Shaw looked up at her, relieved.

“She was talking to you?” Shaw asked after a beat, a little wary when Root nodded. “Does She uh… has She done that before? When we’re… uh…”

“No,” Root said, revealing that she was a little surprised by it as well. She hadn’t ever had the Machine talk to her while she was engaged in anything so intimate.

“Did she know…?” Shaw asked. Root smiled tiredly.

“She knows everything I do,” Root told Shaw with a smirk, but it faltered. “Or, she used to. These days she’s a little busy, so I guess I’m not sure.”

Sameen looked up at her, and Root felt bad for having derailed Shaw’s intentions, but she also felt a little like she’d been walked in on by a parent.

Shaw kissed Root, then sat back on her heels, running a hand over her face.

“So I guess that kind of killed the moment, huh?” Shaw asked half-jokingly. Root looked at her apologetically. Shaw smiled weakly, putting a hand on Root’s knee and picking up the medal from the floor with the other. She hesitated, bent to kiss Root’s knee, then stood up.

Root reached out for her, pulling Shaw to her, and hugged her around her waist, her face against Shaw’s stomach. Shaw put a heavy hand on Root’s head and put the other around Root’s shoulders. Root took a deep breath.

“You think the Machine knows when She’s being a pain in the ass?” Shaw asked sarcastically. The Machine spoke up in Root’s ear, telling her to go to Finch’s computer for full information that She’d been able to put together and then contact him on Her behalf. Root stood up, readying to complete the task. She could feel Shaw’s eyes on her as she left the room in a towel to get dressed.

Hours later, Root was still sitting at Finch’s desk, working as quickly as she could with occasional input from the Machine. She felt a growing nervousness as she worked, which was only mildly eased by Shaw’s presence. She’d been sitting in the built-in chair closest to Finch’s desk, beside the monitor that Root was looking at, for almost as long as Root had been working. Shaw had herself seated so that her legs, stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles, were very definitely in Root’s space. She didn’t mind; it was endearing that Shaw hadn’t been running around and doing push-ups at all, choosing instead to stay close by.

This was better than the initial set-up Shaw had tried. She kept hovering behind Root, sitting behind her, and Root had told her not to look over her shoulder. This was in part because it was annoying and in part because she didn’t want Shaw to see what she was working on and get any ideas about heroics to pull.

She was fine with telling Sameen _some_ of what was going on, but Finch and the Machine were in agreement that she shouldn’t be given enough information to plan some sort of intervention. Root couldn’t deny that she felt uneasy about the whole thing. The Machine seemed to know more than She was letting Root in on- but Root could guess that something very dangerous was going to happen soon that She knew Shaw would not take sitting down. But if Shaw _didn’t_ take it sitting down, it would lower the odds that their little band of merry men would succeed.

So now Shaw was sitting facing Root. She had the laptop on her lap, but Root could tell she wasn’t doing much of anything. She could feel Shaw’s eyes on her as she typed away, unearthing hidden instructions from the Machine to write code for a program to override security protocol and build a selective barrier to keep Samaritan from realizing that they were seeing their camera feeds looped, but allow the Machine to have continuous access to the real footage. Root knew that it was far from a flawless plan. It wouldn’t take long for Samaritan to realize what was happening, and even less time for the problem to be sorted out. But the hope was that it would buy them just enough time for all of the people engaged in the games set up by the Machine all over the world to deploy their explosives.

Shaw seemed to be very aware of the anxiety that Root was experiencing as she called Finch and received no reply.

“Why’s he not answering?” Shaw asked, her own worry spiking.

“It’s the middle of the night there, he’s probably asleep,” Root reminded her. Root herself was worried, but the Machine was silent, and Root could only hope that meant nothing was wrong.

“Why don’t you just ask Her what he’s doing?” Shaw asked. Her frustration was clear. Root felt a swell of affection for Shaw, knowing she was trying to piece together how the Machine worked. The thing was, she didn’t usually have to ask for anything. The Machine knew what she wanted and either gave it to her or didn’t. Asking didn’t change much.

Fusco turned up eventually, with cheap Thai food in one hand and a plastic bag with coat hangers hanging out the top in his other.

“You ladies have no idea how good you’ve got it, sitting around down here all day,” he said as he entered the subway car. Shaw gazed past Root at Fusco with a dark look, pulling her feet towards herself and out of Root’s space.

“Where’s Reese?” Shaw asked.

“I figured he was working on one of your secret project. He never showed up for work today,” Fusco said as he dumped the contents of his arms onto the end of the desk. Root pushed the food away from the keyboard, thinking of how mad Finch would be if something were spilled on his equipment. When she caught herself thinking such a thing she smirked. He really was rubbing off on her. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“But you heard from him? You must have if you knew to bring those clothes,” Shaw said.

“Yeah, he just said he needed me to make an excuse for him,” Fusco explained, shrugging. Shaw’s eyes narrowed like she was angry but Root could tell she was actually just nervous, and reached out to put a reassuring hand on Shaw's knee without thinking.

“I’m sure he’s fine too,” Root said. Shaw gave her a sidelong look but didn't push her hand away. When Root turned back to Fusco, he looked surprised.

“What do you mean, he’s fine _too_?” he asked.

“Harold has been… busy,” Root said, trying to sound aloof. Fusco’s eyebrows raised.

“Those two had better turn up, otherwise it’s just gonna be us as a threesome,” Fusco said, as if the thought of just the three of them left was terrifying.

“Believe me, there is no universe where I would consider a threesome with you, Lionel,” Shaw growled, and when Root glanced at her she could see the smirk on Shaw’s face. Shaw met Root's gaze conspiratorially.

“Right back at ya,” he said, offended, then spared Root a nervous look. She smirked at him, turning and leaning back in Finch’s chair so that she and Shaw were both facing him, intentionally intimidating. “You girls are creepy, you know that?”

“We’re aware,” Root said with a tilt of her head. Root looked at Shaw over her shoulder playfully and saw that Shaw was nodding and smirking. They made eye contact and Shaw actually smiled with teeth, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. Root’s stomach flipped.

“I’m going home to see my son,” Fusco said, frustrated as he pulled some food out of the bag for them, then picked up the rest.

“Do you feed him takeout every night?” Shaw asked, disgusted.

“Not every night,” Fusco replied defensively. Root turned back to him and saw that he was itching to leave, standing in the doorway of the subway car.

“All I’m saying, at this rate he’s gonna have a heart attack by forty,” Shaw said. She was almost _scolding_ Fusco. Fusco grimaced and took another step out of the car, shifting the bag in his hands.

“For a gun-slinging maniac, you’re a lot more of a ‘body is a temple’ hippy than I figured,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm as he turned away. Root could feel Shaw seething behind her. She knew that this was probably Shaw’s idea of being friendly, but Fusco wasn’t having it. He shook his head as he walked towards the steps.

Root turned back to Shaw.

“I like that your body is a temple,” Root said coyly, then leaned in close. “It gives me something to worship.”

“My body is so not a temple,” Shaw muttered dismissively. “And you already _have_ something to worship.”

Root felt a little hurt by the irritation in Shaw’s voice. Root had just been teasing. Kidding around. She furrowed her brow in confusion and watched Shaw lean forward to look at the computer screen. Root was working herself up to asking Shaw what was wrong, what she’d done to offend her, when the Machine cut in to update Root: John was actually going to be able to head to his own apartment to get some rest tonight.

“John and the dog are both fine,” Root told Shaw. Shaw looked over at her. Root saw that Shaw looked a little sheepish, like she felt bad about having been annoyed. Then Shaw leaned forward and kissed Root quickly before she stood up and walked around Root for the food Lionel had brought.

“That’s good news,” she said, settling back down, propping her feet on the seat of Root’s chair. Root made sure she'd saved what she’d been writing on Finch’s computer. The code looked good and she was sure it would work, but not for how long. She’d sent it to Finch and Daizo hidden in a picture, and now all she could do was wait.

Root rolled away from Shaw to get food for herself as well, and Shaw’s feet fell to the floor. Root turned and saw the annoyed look on Shaw’s face. She rolled back towards her, locating her legs so that they were between Shaw’s and they were facing one another. Root smirked at her and watched Shaw’s eyes light up.

“Are you done working?” she asked.

“For tonight,” Root said lightheartedly, opening up the box of takeout in her hands. Shaw did not manage to fully hide the glee she felt as she took a bite of food.

Root was still a little clumsy because of her shot elbow, but her hands were much more steady, and without the bandages, her right hand was almost normal. She wasn’t about to try to use chopsticks, but after the talk she and Shaw had had that morning, Root couldn’t wait to try to use her hands for _other_ things. She flexed her fingers, looking at her knuckles, and smiled as she took a bite of her food. Shaw had watched Root test her hand and gave her a knowing smirk, her eyebrow raising as she scarfed down her food. Root smirked back at her and moved one knee against the inside of Shaw’s thigh.

While they ate, Shaw asked what it was that Root was working on and Root explained vaguely, telling about how she had embedded the information in a photo for Finch and Daizo. Shaw seemed impressed and despite all of the times she’d teased Root and Finch for being nerds, she seemed like she enjoyed learning about it, and already understood quite a bit of what Root was saying.

Shaw finished every bite of her food and Root ate enough to be pleasantly full, setting aside her leftovers.

“I guess if you’re done writing code, and the boys aren’t going to be back tonight…” Shaw paused, leaning forward, tilting her head to one side and then the other with a little smile, pretending like she was considering the available options, “It sounds like we have some time to ourselves.”

“It sounds that way,” Root replied with a flirtatious grin. Shaw took the armrests of Finch's rolling chair in her hands and pulled Root as close as they could fit together.

“Well, then we’d better make the most of it,” Shaw said in her best gravelly voice.

In her ear, the Machine notified Root that tomorrow, at around noon, there would be work to do. Root didn’t know why, it wasn’t like She had used any intonation, but Root had a feeling that she would be gone longer than a few hours. She tried to swallow her worry, hoping Shaw hadn’t noticed the interruption as she ran her hands over Shaw’s thighs.

“We’d better,” Root agreed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys leave the nicest comments! I'm glad this story is helping some of you cope. (It's certainly helping me!) This story _will_ end eventually, but like I've said before- I have some other story ideas that I'll write if you guys want to read them. That being said, it might not happen right away or quite so quickly, because my "real job" has definitely taken a back seat while I've been writing this.
> 
>  _However_ , if you like my writing, you might be happy to know that my "real job" is that I'm writing a screenplay, and hopefully someday there'll be a romantic movie about queer women out there in the world written by yours truly. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. It's making typing hard. (HAHA. I'm not funny.)

The little smile, more in Shaw’s eyes than her mouth, made Root’s stomach flip again. She didn’t think she would ever get tired of the bright, warm feeling that started in her chest and coursed through her whole body, like every cell was responding to the slightest display of pleasure from Shaw.

The Machine’s update had cut through that warmth in Root’s stomach efficiently, a spike of fear straight to the gut, and Root kissed Shaw because she was desperate to feel her tonight in case tomorrow was the beginning of the end. Even if the nagging sensation that Root was going to be plunged into the depths of war was wrong, Shaw’s words from the bathroom were still echoing inside of Root’s brain with the Machine’s update- it was always a possibility that there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’. Root realized that meant that even if she did survive the next few days, she would always have to treat each moment she spent with Shaw like it might be the last one.

Shaw seemed a little surprised by the voracity that Root kissed her with but caught up quickly, pushing into Root’s kiss hard enough that the chair started to roll away and she had to pull it close again. Root’s knees bumped the plastic edge of Shaw’s bench seat hard with the movement of the chair, but she didn’t care.

Shaw hooked her heels in the star-shaped base of the chair to keep it close to her and her hands found Root’s waist. Root kept her wounded arm close to her stomach, careful with the gunshot wound in her elbow, and Shaw moved her hand accordingly, equally aware that Root was still mending. With her good arm, Root grabbed onto Shaw’s shirt, a fistful of cloth to help keep them anchored together. Shaw looked down at Root’s bare knuckles with an approving little grin and sat back in her seat, her heels still tight on the chair’s base. Root wanted to take the reins, and this was Shaw’s way of relinquishing them for the moment.

Root smirked at her and pulled Shaw’s shirt up with her good hand, avoiding using her left arm as much as possible. Shaw helped take her shirt off when Root struggled, and then sat back against the seat, one hand on each of Root’s knees between her own, slouching casually into the seat that she was no longer centered over, halfway between two built-in seat cushions and she didn’t see to mind.

Root gazed at her bare abdomen, taking the time to really look at her.

There was the scar where Shaw had been shot once upon a time by Wilson, her old boss, as well as a few other old wounds healed over here and there, and of course in the middle of her chest, the twin scabs from Harold’s taser that had not fully healed yet. Root reached out and touched them again and immediately wished she hadn’t because Shaw’s face grew serious with the contact.

When she saw Shaw’s expression, Root leaned forward and kissed her again, gently touching her face with her bad arm’s hand, letting the hand on Shaw’s chest drift to cup one hand over her bra. Once she could tell that Shaw was relaxing again, not thinking quite so much about the pain of the past few days, Root leaned back and pulled her own shirt off, flinching when it caught on her elbow.

Shaw’s hands were immediately on her, helping her get her arm free. Then Shaw was satisfied that Root was alright and she once again sat back, her hands on Root’s thighs.

Root got up with a coy smile and put one leg on either side of Shaw’s lap, straddling her hips and watching Shaw’s eyes light up a little as she tilted her head back to look up at Root, her hands moving over Root’s thighs to her hips. Root bent to kiss her, taking Shaw’s face in her hands, and she could feel Shaw trying to sit up straighter under her to kiss her with more ease, could feel Shaw’s back arching off of the plastic to meet her.

Shaw kissed Root’s neck and chest as Root reached around Shaw’s body to take off her bra with sore fingers, her bad arm resting on Shaw’s shoulder. Shaw removed Root’s bra twice as fast as Root’s fumbling fingers managed to get Shaw’s off, then Shaw’s hands rested loosely at Root’s waist as Root slowly rolled Shaw’s nipple between her newly freed fingers, her kiss longing.

Shaw’s hips pushed up into her own, and Root took her time giving Shaw’s breasts attention, kneading them, rocking her hips against Shaw’s, which were moving with increasing need. Root knew that because her legs were on either side of Shaw’s body, the shorter woman was getting no friction. She could see the flush creeping over Shaw’s chest, and felt Shaw’s eagerness when Shaw’s straight white teeth clamped down on Root’s nipple, almost at eye-level with Shaw’s face.

Eventually Root’s hand snaked between their bare stomachs to Shaw’s pants, pushing against her through the fabric, and watched Shaw’s head press back against the window of the subway car. With the hand of her bad arm, Root touched Shaw’s throat and then her shoulder, pressing her fingers into Shaw’s strong, tight trapezius muscle. Root grabbed the muscle with as much strength as her wounded arm would allow and watched Shaw’s head pull to the side, exposing her smooth neck to Root’s hand. Shaw’s hands tightened on Root’s hips and Root rewarded her hunger by unbuttoning Shaw’s pants and sliding her hand inside of them, her fingers curling against Shaw’s underwear. With a shuddering exhale, Shaw struggled to sit up straighter again to have more contact with Root. Root kissed her hard.

After a few minutes of Root rubbing circles against Shaw through her underwear, she could tell that Shaw was starting to lose her patience, biting Root’s lip just a little too hard with a low groan when Root started to remove her hand. When she realized that Root was pulling her hand away to get her to take off her pants, Shaw quickly reached around Root’s legs, still on either side of her body, and help Root get them down off her thighs.

Root pulled Shaw's underwear down with the pants and as soon as they were both past Shaw’s knees, Root’s fingers were on Shaw’s body. Shaw quickly gave up trying to get her pants off of her ankles- Root knew Shaw’s shoes were in the way and that there was no way that Shaw was going to keep thinking about kicking her shoes off when Root’s fingers were pressing against her wet body, one finger dipping inside of her before circling her clitoris smoothly.

Shaw’s body arched up harder than ever, her breath shuddering as Root’s fingers moved expertly against her, and then inside of her, the heel of Root’s hand against her clitoris so that when her hips rocked with Root’s thrusts, there was friction and pressure. Root knew exactly what to do when, knew exactly how much Shaw needed each movement of her hand.

The fingernails that pressed into Root’s spine when she kissed Shaw were just enough pleasurable pain to distract her from the soreness of her knuckles. She didn’t want to stop.

She could tell that Shaw was getting close when her head pressed back against the windows again, her hands on Root’s chest, pinching Root’s nipples hard as her eyes shut and her lips parted. Root’s fingers moved faster, harder, matching the rhythm of Shaw’s hips until the woman beneath her grunted and her mouth fell open, leaning forward suddenly to press her face against Root’s chest as she shuddered and her hips jerked. Root wrapped her bad arm around Shaw’s shoulders, cradling her against her as she shook with pleasure.

Shaw eventually leaned back again, her arms around Root to pull her close as her breathing evened again, her chest and forehead damp with sweat. Root removed her hand from between them and kissed her, feeling Shaw move underneath her. When Root looked to see what Shaw was doing she realized she was fighting her feet out of her pants. Root smirked at her and received a contented grin in return, only a hint of annoyance on Shaw’s face as she struggled.

Then Shaw grabbed onto her hips firmly, rocking forward and making Root lean back. Root grabbed Shaw’s upper arm with her right hand, afraid she was going to fall. Shaw gestured with her chin behind Root, and when she glanced over her shoulder she saw that Shaw wanted her to get back in the desk chair.

“Harold would do more than use a taser on you if he found out,” Root said with her eyebrows raised, disbelief and amusement mingling in her voice. Shaw leaned forward, tilting Root back even more.

“Well, then he’d better not find out,” she growled with a smirk, enunciating the words carefully, her eyes heavy-lidded. Root felt her heart thudding in her chest, thunderous and fast, tilting her head playfully as she returned the smirk, then slid off of Shaw’s lap, relaxing into the chair.

No sooner had she sat down than Shaw was pulling the shorts and underwear from around her hips, pushing the chair against the wall where it wouldn’t roll away from her. She knelt between Root’s legs and kissed her chest, her hands moving over Root’s body as she used her teeth and her tongue.

She paused with her head below Root’s belly button, looking up at her with a smirk, and Root shivered in the cold air of the subway station, looking down at her with raised eyebrows, wondering why she had stopped.

“Too bad I don’t have an iron and some zip ties,” Shaw joked, her voice low. Root chuckled but before she could reply Shaw’s mouth was on her, one finger pushing smoothly inside her simultaneously, and all Root could do was suck air in between her teeth, her laugh becoming a little noise of surprise and pleasure.

Sameen put one of Root’s legs over her shoulder, pushing herself closer between her legs as Root sank down in the chair, her hips on the edge of the leather cushion. Her other foot, the one not hanging behind Shaw’s back, found the seat Shaw had been sitting on, pushing against it to steady herself, her good hand gripping her thigh hard.

Shaw’s hand found hers, fingers wrapping around Root’s where they were digging into her thigh, and held onto it, letting Root squeeze her fingers tight when Shaw eventually added a second finger, moving inside of Root.

When Root felt her hips trying to grind into Shaw’s face of their own volition, she wondered how Shaw had gotten so good at this if she’d only slept with one other woman. Her thoughts were cut short when Shaw shifted her mouth perfectly, and she released Shaw’s hand to grab onto her head, fingers in Shaw’s hair, desperate for her to repeat the motion.

Shaw did, groaning quietly against Root, the vibration of her groan straight against her clitoris, and that was all Root needed. Gasps hissed from her as she came apart in Shaw’s hands.

She finished bucking under Shaw and sighed with a little smile, licking at her dry lips. Her mouth was dry from panting.

Shaw kissed her way back up Root’s stomach, sucking a hard nipple into her mouth and then releasing it from her warm mouth, inhaling with her open mouth still hovering over the sensitive flesh. The sudden cold rush of air made Root jerk, not sure if she wanted to jerk away from Shaw’s mouth or towards it. Shaw kissed Root’s breast with a smirk, soothing her, and got up, leaning over to kiss Root. Root sighed into Shaw’s mouth, shivering.

——————————

“Lionel’s right, we _do_ have it pretty good down here,” Shaw said, her voice thoughtful. Earlier, she had pushed the cots together. When Root had teased her, Shaw had pointed out that it was stupid for them to sleep on a twin bed together if they could try to make it a little more comfortable. She had also pointed out that they only had one blanket and with the subway being so cold it just made more sense to sleep in the same bed. Root couldn’t argue with that. She was curled up under said blanket while Shaw pushed the new bed frame up against the original one.

Now Shaw was sitting on the bed with the laptop on her knees, reading something, while Root leaned against her, wishing the Machine would say something. But when Shaw spoke, interrupting Root's mournful thoughts, Root snorted. Shaw lifted her head up to see what she was laughing at.

“What?” she asked.

“That’s certainly a change of tune,” Root joked, her eyebrows pulling upwards in disbelief. Shaw scowled and turned back to her computer. Root put her hand on Shaw’s forearm and could feel that Shaw was wondering if she should pull it away. Root had already pushed her luck by snuggling up to Shaw’s side, and it had taken a few minutes for Shaw to relax with Root pressed up against her. Root had seen the look on her face that said she wasn’t used to cuddling. It was endlessly fascinating to Root that Shaw could put her tongue on the most intimate parts of Root’s body when they were having sex, but it was hard for her to let Root so much as lean against her shoulder otherwise.

“It’s easier to be down here hiding in a hole when no one’s in danger,” Shaw said dismissively. Root kissed Shaw’s shoulder and Shaw let her. “You haven’t heard anything about Finch?”

“No, She hasn’t said anything about Harold,” Root said. Shaw turned her head to look at her. Root realized she’d worded her sentence poorly. She’d made it sound like she’d heard something from the Machine since telling Shaw that John and Bear were alright. She _had_ , but she didn’t want to have to tell Shaw that she was leaving in the morning.

“Reese?” Shaw asked, knowing that Root had heard something. Root forced a little smile.

“He’s fine. I haven’t heard anything,” she said, hoping that would be enough. She could tell that Shaw could see through her smile, but the shorter woman didn’t press her, turning back to the computer with a hint of annoyance.

“There’s one thing this place doesn’t have,” Shaw grumbled. “I miss shooting bad guys.”

Root smiled lightheartedly, rubbing her hand on Shaw’s arm.

“I know, sweetie,” she said with mock sympathy.

Shaw smirked, her eyes not leaving the laptop screen.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for the love! It looks like this story is about to pass 900 kudos!!! I'm amazed. Thank you all!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Just a heads up, I may have to shift to posting every third day instead of every other day- my schedule is getting a little bit more busy and I want to make sure I do this story justice. I'm realizing that I just can't write enough fast enough, and the story is much longer than I anticipated. I'm still writing from the initial outline, the story has not changed. But I grossly overestimated how much would take place in each chapter!

Root woke up in the dark by herself and got up, wrapping the blanket around her body. She walked to the subway car to find Shaw using the laptop again, sitting in one of the built-in seats with her feet propped up on Finch’s chair. Root leaned against the doorframe and Shaw caught sight of her, her face lit up with white light from the laptop’s screen.

“How long have you been up?” Root asked. Root could see from the sudden change of color from white to blue on Shaw’s face that she had quickly closed something on the screen before she put the laptop down beside her on the bank of seats.

“I don’t know. It’s about seven forty five,” Shaw said, glancing at the laptop’s clock. Root went and turned the lights on in the whole station, then came back to the car to look at the clothes the Machine had provided for her.

She still hadn’t told Shaw that she was leaving, and knew that sooner or later she would have to let her know, but she didn’t know how she should do it. When she opened the bag of clothes she hoped to find some clue as to what she would be doing.

There was nothing particularly notable about any of the clothes. A grey leather jacket, a pair of black jeans, a royal blue shirt, some surprisingly lacy lingerie, socks and sensible black boots without a heel. Root knew what that meant- she’d need to be able to run.

Root looked over at Shaw, who was watching, and could tell that the shorter woman was thinking the exact same thing.

“Do you know what the Machine is going to have you doing yet?” Shaw asked. Root feigned confusion, and Shaw looked annoyed. “I’m not stupid. She’s obviously got some plan.”

Root looked down at the shoes in her hand.

“I don’t know yet. I just know I have to be ready to leave in a couple of hours,” Root said. Shaw pursed her lips and nodded.

“Does she always give you such uh… nice underwear?” she asked, pulling the laptop onto her lap again. She was still annoyed but spared Root a sly look and a smirk. Root smiled back at her with raised eyebrows.

“Honestly? No,” Root said. She tipped her head to one side. “I think it’s as close to an apology as you’re going to get from Her.”

Shaw snorted.

“Your robot can apologize?” Shaw asked sarcastically. Root smirked.

“Not a robot,” she scolded, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. She saw Shaw’s eyes move over her as she pulled off the tank top she'd borrowed and struggled with the new bra.

Shaw got up from her seat and walked over, turning Root away from her and hooking the bra behind her, then helping her with the shirt.

“I appreciate the help, Sam, but it’s _so_ much less fun getting dressed by you than undressed,” Root said coyly. Shaw smiled a little and shook her head.

“Tell me about it. Her apology would be a lot more meaningful if I was going to have the chance to admire it,” she growled. She turned to walk back to her seat, and Root stopped her, turning her around to kiss her. Shaw’s eyes showed the briefest flash of melancholy.

“You will. As soon as I get back,” Root said. Shaw forced a smile.

“I’ll check in,” Root said, feeling an overwhelming sadness growing in her stomach. “I promise.”

Shaw nodded.

“The laptop will be on, in case it’s easier to let me know that way,” Shaw said. She seemed like she was all business now. Root nodded. Part of her wished that Shaw would tell her to stay. Not because she actually could, but because she wanted to be told she was cared about. It was silly, and it made her uneasy, knowing that she cared _so much_ about Sameen.

When it was time for Root to leave, Sameen stopped flicking cards into the open box on the floor. She’d been doing sets of pushups again and again and again, and was only stopping because she could tell that Root was getting ready to leave.

Root caught anxiety in Shaw’s eyes before she’d pursed her lips, once again pulling a mien of careful apathy. Root’s own eyes stayed big and sorrowful as Shaw approached her.

“Do you have a gun?” Shaw asked.

“No, but I’m sure I’ll find one if I need one,” Root said, watching Shaw’s eyebrows pull together with momentary worry before her forehead smoothed again and she gave a tiny nod. Root watched Shaw swallow and put her hands on Shaw’s shoulders, her left arm throbbing with pain.

“Be careful,” Shaw said, her voice low. Root smirked at her and tilted her head forward, playful. This was almost exactly what she’d wanted, and now that she’d gotten it she couldn’t help but pretend it was adorable how naive Shaw was being. Shaw’s eyes darkened and Root could see the beginning of a scowl. She hesitated and then kissed Shaw, softly.

“I will,” she said quietly. The irritation that she had seen in Shaw dissipated, replaced by concern. Then Shaw took a deep breath and stepped back, steeling herself.

“Well, get going,” Shaw said, frustrated and sad. Root gave her a little smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then turned and walked up the steps, her hands swaying at her sides. She glanced back over her shoulder but Shaw had already walked away.

Root exited the subway station and blinked in the sunlight. It was much warmer outside than she had expected, and the sun felt good on her skin. It helped assuage the building fear inside of her. Fear that got worse with every step that took her further from the relative safety of the subway station. And more specifically, Shaw.

She paused at the corner and took a deep breath. People walked past her, and she felt a little lost. The Machine hadn’t said anything yet, even now as she looked straight into a security camera on the outside of a bodega. Root closed her eyes, letting herself be jostled by the New Yorkers that couldn’t be bothered to avoid walking into a stationary pedestrian. She didn’t move, even when her bullet wound throbbed with pain when someone bumped her especially hard.

Finally, She spoke.

Root’s eyes snapped open and she began to walk, smiling with relief, feeling like she’d been thrown a life preserver. 

“What are we up to today?” Root asked Her, breathing much more freely now that she knew she had a purpose. The Machine gave her directions, and she followed them with ease, enjoying the constant guidance through the throngs of people as she traversed Manhattan on foot.

Eventually she ended up outside of the precinct where Fusco and John worked, right as the two men were approaching the door. John spotted her first and stopped, a confused and concerned look on his face. Fusco looked back at his partner and followed his gaze. When he saw Root, his face fell. She smiled playfully at them as she closed the distance between them.

“Nice day for a walk, John. Don’t you think?” she asked him when the Machine told her to get him to join her. Root tried not to grin quite so broadly, and Reese looked skeptical.

“Where are we walking to?” he asked as Root swaggered up to him, her hands in her jacket’s pockets.

“I don’t know yet,” Root said lightly. The Machine spoke again. “Lionel, do you mind sharing your toys? I need a gun.”

He rolled his eyes.

“You know my guns are registered to me, right Fruitcake?” Lionel asked, annoyed.

She put her right hand out without looking at him, and after a beat she felt the reassuring weight of a handgun in her open palm. She smiled at Lionel and pocketed the weapon.

“Take the dog back to the subway station after work,” Root told him. Lionel shook his head in disbelief and she pouted at him, “Shaw could use the company.”

“You think I’m gonna hang around that creepy dungeon with her?” Lionel said, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. Root could tell he was going to continue speaking, but cut him off with a smirk.

“I meant she could use the dog’s company,” Root said, her nose wrinkling playfully. Lionel looked offended, but before he could offer a retort, she turned and started to walk away. She didn’t bother to turn around and see if John was coming.

“You got some of your bandages off,” Reese said, quickly matching her pace as they walked up the block.

“That’s right,” Root replied, checking for bikes and cars before stepping into the crosswalk, “The doctor’s cleared me to play.”

John followed her across the street before he replied.

“How’d she take it? You leaving?” he asked. Root looked over at him, surprised he was asking about Shaw, but he was scanning the faces of the people they were passing. Root paused until he looked at her. “Are we pretending you two _aren’t_ doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

Root started to walk again. She wasn’t sure how to reply. She couldn’t tell if he was just making polite conversation or if he really wanted to know. If it was the latter, she wondered why he cared.

The Machine told her to turn left.

She did, cutting in front of John and making him stop short to keep from running into her. She could tell he was annoyed with playing follow the leader as they continued walking for a number of blocks.

“This is where our number’s girlfriend lives,” he said when they turned onto a street and Root slowed, waiting for further instructions. Root looked up at him questioningly.

“Evans, the guy who’s working with Samaritan’s engineers? His girlfriend lives in that building,” Reese explained, tipping his head towards the next building on the block. “He came here after the meeting the other day.”

Root looked up at the windows of the building.

“Alright, what are we doing here?” Root asked. John correctly guessed that Root was talking to the Machine. She listened to the reply and slowly turned back to him, nodding.

“There are no cameras inside. Do you know which apartment she lives in?” Root asked. Reese waited and then realized she was, in fact, asking him.

“Top floor, corner apartment,” he said, craning his head back to see the windows. “Do we know why we’re here yet?”

“Not exactly. We’re looking for something- something that needs to be protected,” Root said. John nodded as they headed towards the front door of the building. Once they were inside the elevator, Root heard another piece of information that made her stomach tighten. “Unfortunately, this may be a little more complicated than I thought. We’ve got company approaching outside.”

“Do you think Evans is hiding information from his bosses? Stashing secrets here so they’re not at his own place?” Reese asked. The elevator doors gave a loud _ding_ and opened at the top floor.

“I don’t know yet,” Root told him.

The Machine was informing her that Martine was among the operatives who were approaching, and Root's stomach churned.

She followed John down the hall to the apartment. They could hear music playing inside. They looked at one another in surprise, and he tried the door. It was locked. After a second’s hesitation, Reese knocked on the door. When he’d waited a minute and no one answered, he knocked harder.

“NYPD, open up,” John said.

Root saw the peep hole darken, and hid her gun behind her leg. The door opened, the chain still latched, and she could see a woman’s eye.

“Can I help you, officers?” the woman asked, fear in her voice. John smiled at her.

“We just have a few questions to ask you, Miss…?” John said, hoping she would tell him her name.

“No, I’m sorry, you can’t come in,” the woman said, starting to close the door. The Machine told Root that Martine and the rest of the operatives were entering the building and She wouldn’t be able to see or give any more updates.

“Did Evans tell you not to answer the door?” Root asked before the woman had shut it all the way. The woman paused. “That’s what I thought. We were sent here to protect something. And I’m just _guessing_ that that _something_ is you.”

“Y-you need to leave,” the woman said, the pitch of her voice rising. John was looking at Root tiredly, like he was just realizing what sort of situation they had gotten themselves into.

“You’re right, we _do_ need to leave,” Root said, giving the woman a playfully annoyed smile that evaporated when she continued. “All of us. Right now. Because there’s a whole crew of people on their way up here with guns, and trust me when I say that you’d much rather come with us than stay here and meet them.”

The woman looked at John, and he gave her a tight smile.

“She’s right,” he told the woman, his voice low and rough in his throat. They could hear the faint elevator beep in the distance, signaling that the doors had opened downstairs. “Please open the door.”

The woman hesitated for a second, and then shut the door to unlatch it.

“The Machine couldn’t have given us a heads up that we were here for a _person_?” he asked. Root gave him a fake sympathetic smile.

“You should know by now that She likes it when I figure things out on my own,” Root told him as the door opened again, wide this time. Root had been thinking the same thing as John. It wouldn’t have been hard for the Machine to let her know. It wasn’t like it would have made a difference in their plan, but now that she knew that Samaritan had operatives heading up the elevator with a myriad of guns, she found herself wishing that she’d said something more to Sameen before she left.

John grabbed the woman’s upper arm and ushered her into her apartment.

“Is there a fire escape?” he asked, looking out the living room windows as Root closed and locked the door behind herself, shifting her gun to her bad arm so she could push furniture in front of the apartment door.

“In the bathroom,” the woman said, pointing in the direction of a doorway. John walked through the door, motioning for the woman to follow him. She stood still, looking after him with fright.

“If it’s not too much to ask, could I get your name?” he grunted. Root could tell he was shoving the window up. The woman was still standing in the living room, and Root pushed her forwards with her bad arm, turning to face the door when there was a loud slamming sound from the other side.

“The door’s blocked,” a muffled voice said from outside.

“Then _un_ block it,” a second voice said. A woman’s voice. Martine. Root backed away quickly, shutting the bedroom door behind her and then the bathroom door.

“We need to hurry,” she said, unable to keep the panic from her voice as she leveled her gun at the bathroom door.

“Alright, Tasha,” John was saying, half out of the window onto the fire escape. Root could see that the woman, apparently named Tasha, was having doubts, and was standing in the middle of the bathroom with her hands pressed over her mouth. John was reaching out to her with one hand, trying to reassure her. “You’re ok, I promise. We’re here to help you. But you need to come with us.”

“John, we don’t have time for this,” Root warned, shoving Tasha towards John right as a loud explosion shook the bathroom. Tasha and Root both stumbled. Root's wounded arm connected with the sink and she cried out as pain shot through her like electricity.

“What was that?” Tasha screamed. Root righted herself and pushed Tasha into John's hands, gritting her teeth.

“That was your apartment door being blown off its hinges. _That_ is why we’re here,” Root told her as John half-pulled Tasha through the window.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading yet another chapter, and thanks for being understanding about my need to post a little less frequently. There will still be regular updates _at least_ every third day! As always, I love the comments you guys leave, and I appreciate the kudos! Enjoy!

There was yelling from behind Root as she followed John and Tasha out of the bathroom and onto the metal staircase. She ducked to the side of the open window, her gun in her bad arm, while the other two made their way down the first flight of steps. Inside the apartment, doors slammed open.

After a few seconds, a man with a gun stuck his head out the window, and Root shot him in the arm, wrestling the gun out of his hand and holding him in the window to block the person behind him while she looked to see how John and Tasha were doing.

They were halfway down the fire escape.

Root shoved the man she’d shot back into the bathroom and started running after Reese, shooting up at the window when another gunman emerged.

She took the stairs at a run and jumped off the bottom to the ground, where John was pulling Tasha deeper into the alley, out of view of the gunman above them. Root shot up at him as she moved away from the base of the fire escape.

“Now’s not the best time, Shaw,” John said through clenched teeth, shooting up at the gunman as Root ducked behind the dumpster with the other two. Root looked at Reese in surprise and he nodded his head for her to take the call. The Machine connected her to Shaw, leaving John to take aim up at the side of the building.

“John’s a little busy,” Root said light-heartedly, grabbing Tasha with her bad arm and pulling her down closer to the ground at the Machine’s request. A fraction of a second later, a bullet ricocheted off the wall near the spot where Tasha’s chest had been. With a smirk, Root joked, “Should I be offended that you called him instead of me, sweetie?”

“There’s a new number- Tasha Washington,” Shaw replied, ignoring Root’s comment. “It looks like she might have a connection to the other number- Michael Evans.”

“She’s the girlfriend. We’re currently taking cover behind a dumpster together,” Root said, looking at Tasha and seeing how afraid she was, her shoulders hunched as if that would protect her. Root stuck her arm out around the corner of the dumpster with the Machine’s guidance and shot at the female operative who had just entered the alley. The Machine informed her that her bullet had hit the woman squarely in the knee.

“Are you seriously already in a fire fight?” Shaw asked. Root could hear the worry in her voice and her heart fluttered.

In her ear, the Machine alerted Root that Evans was nearby, heading in the direction of the apartment building.

“You know what? Screw this. I’m coming to help you guys. You’re still recovering from the _last_ time you got shot,” Shaw said.

“No, Sam,” Root commanded her. The Machine spoke in her ear again. “I need you to stay there. The Machine is going to stream Her feeds to you so you can help John get Tasha out of here. She needs to get to Fusco. That’s our best bet at keeping her safe.”

“What about you?” Shaw asked. Root didn’t answer, listening as the Machine told her that Evans had just rounded the corner onto this block and was approaching the mayhem. When she didn’t get a response, the pitch of Shaw’s voice escalated. “ _Root_ \- What are _you_ going to be doing?”

“I have something else I need to take care of,” Root told Shaw, then disconnected the call and took a deep breath to steady herself. She raced out from behind the dumpster.

“Hey, where are you going?” John yelled after Root. She was at the mouth of the alley already, hurrying towards the street to get to Evans. Martine emerged from the front of the apartment building at the same time that Root reached the sidewalk, and when Evans caught sight of both of them, guns in their hands, he halted and then turned on his heel to run back in the direction he came from.

Martine spun around. She saw Root and smirked as she started to take aim. Root ducked back into the alley just in time, plastering herself against the wall, adrenaline pumping through her veins. There was a loud pop of bullets on brick. When Root stuck her head out again, she saw that Martine and four others were following Evans away from the building. She fired a few shots their direction but they were too far away.

“They’re going after Evans,” Root told Reese. The gunman above them had reloaded and was making his way down the fire escape, shooting at them. Root pointed her gun up and aimed, following the Machine’s guiding tones and shooting him in the foot. He stumbled and fell down the rest of the flight of stairs, falling off the metal steps to the ground.

“Take her to Fusco, I’m going after them. Talk to Shaw, she’ll be able to help you get there,” Root said. “I’ll be in touch.”

She gave him one last determined look and he nodded, matching her expression. Without another second’s hesitation, she turned and ran into the street, leaving Reese to get Tasha out of harm’s way.

Root sprinted to the end of the block and found that there had been a car accident. She paused. Halfway up the block, Evans was ducking into a cab, and Martine and her crew were slamming shut the doors of a black SUV. The Machine directed Root down into the subway station, breezing through the turnstile without a ticket thanks to the Machine’s help, to a train which was just about to close its doors when she leapt inside.

She breathed heavily for the few minutes it took to get to the next station. The Machine was giving her turn by turn updates of Evans and Samaritan’s operatives on the streets above her, and told her to get off. She did, racing up the steps and running a few dozen steps out into the road right as Evans’ taxi got to the crosswalk. Root opened the door to the cab and looked back down the block. The SUV was four cars behind them, with a gunman hanging out the passenger side window. She shot back at the vehicle, hitting the man in the shoulder, then threw herself into the back seat beside Evans.

“No no no! I already have a fare!” the taxi driver yelled, “You can’t shoot a gun in my cab!”

“I didn’t shoot a gun in your cab, I shot a gun _outside_ of your cab,” Root said condescendingly. “Can you step on it? We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Woah, lady, I don’t know who you are, but you’ve got the wrong guy,” Evans was saying, putting one hand up as he shrank against the opposite side of the back seat. She saw him reaching for the door handle and quickly switched her gun to her bad hand, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. The taxi driver had not put his foot on the gas yet, still yelling at her. She casually pointed her gun at the driver.

“Do you mind?” she asked lightly, and he stopped screaming, putting his hands up. She looked at his licensure posted inside the cab and then smiled at him.

“Pranav, I understand your hesitation, but you really only have two options. One- I shoot you right now and push you out of this cab,” she said, and watched him swallow hard. “Or two- you take your foot off the brakes and hopefully help all three of us avoid getting shot by the people in the SUV behind us.”

“Either way, I’m going to get killed,” Pranav said, resigned to his fate. Root tilted her head to the side.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” she told him. She yanked on Evans’s collar, wrenching him down off of his seat and into the foot space, his head beside her knees, out of view of the rear window just before a gunshot shattered the glass. Pranav yelped and immediately hit the gas, lurching the car forward through traffic.

“Good choice. Now,” Root said, turning to Evans like they were having any old conversation, one in which he wasn’t wedged between the back seat and the driver’s in a cab that was being shot at by Samaritan’s operatives, “Michael, my _friend_ made sure that I brought some backup when I went to protect Tasha. Which means that She must have known that you were both going to be in trouble. It would help me help you if I knew what _sort_ of trouble you were in.”

Evans was cursing under his breath, not responding to her, trying to cower away from her but she still had a firm grasp on his shirt.

“No? Alright, well let me take a guess,” Root said playfully, resting her shot arm on the seat in front of her, the gun still pointing at Pranav. “I know you helped build server rooms on a container ship. I can only _imagine_ that your employers are planning on an expansion. And that _you’re_ designing it for them.”

“Lady-” Michael interrupted.

“Call me Root,” Root interrupted right back with a stern smile. Michael was frantically shrugging, his shoulders so high that they touched his ears when he shook his head.

“Look, I don’t want _anything_ to do with them. I was just designing the server rooms, like you said. But things seemed shady, and I knew I shouldn’t- I mean, I get paid a lot of money not to- but I had to know what it was they were doing,” Michael said, his eyebrows raising, revealing creases in his face. He couldn’t have been more than forty, but already there were deep lines in his forehead. Root could tell that this man was someone who had been worrying quite a bit. His mouth contorted like he was in agony as he continued. “And… a-and, they’re doing something- I can’t tell you about it- but it’s bad stuff. Stuff that Americans, _free_ Americans under the democracy of- of the United States- we can’t _stand_ for this! We have a _right_ to- to privacy, and to make our own decisions.”

He was getting increasingly impassioned as he spoke, his hands in fists, one finger jabbing up at Root like she was a part of the problem. She let go of his shirt collar and gave him a tight smile. No, she wasn’t part of Samaritan’s network of ruthless assassins, but she was still answering to an artificial super-intelligence that was watching over them. She wasn’t sure if Evans just had a problem with the idea of surveillance or if he knew more about Samaritan’s methods and plans.

She could tell he was about to speak again and put up a finger to stop him, glancing out the shattered rear window as the Machine spoke to her.

The SUV was trying to follow them, scraping into cars. Fortunately, New York City cab drivers knew better than anyone in the world how to weave in and out of traffic, and being in a small sedan meant that they could fit into spaces that the bullet-proof SUV couldn’t.

“I understand,” Root told Her, letting her finger drop as she looked down at Evans. He seemed to think she was talking to him. Without removing her eyes from Evans’ face, she instructed the driver. “Pranav, turn right in one hundred yards, right again at the next intersection, then left into the parking garage halfway down the block- between the bank and the Italian restaurant with the green and yellow awning.”

She could see Evans’ face falter.

“Who are you talking to?” he asked. She didn’t answer and he started to try to get up from between the seats. “Hey, where are you taking me?”

Pranav slung them around the corner and Root was slammed against the seat. Her wounded arm was jostled as she tried to catch herself and she winced. Evans had fallen backwards against the door.

“I’m not sure yet,” she told Evans, smiling down at him through the pain radiating outward from her elbow. She steadied herself and prepared for the next turn, looking down at Evans. He had caught himself against the seat with his forearm and there were bright drops of blood forming on his skin. Root realized that there were shards of glass from the shattered window all over the seat that were now in his arm too.

“So they found out that you disagreed with them and now they want to kill you?” Root asked skeptically, trying to piece together why killing this engineer was necessary. He was a nobody- just a disgruntled employee. And sure, he could go and spread the word that they were in the new age of a surveillance state, but he wouldn’t be the first or the only one. And with his frantic stuttering, he wouldn’t be the most _effective_ revolutionary. So she wasn’t sure what made him worth charging through the streets of New York like a bull in a china shop. Or why that had put his girlfriend in danger.

“I knew they were fucking psychos, but I didn’t know I was putting Tasha in danger. Or me. And then this morning, there was this British guy outside my building, saying all these cryptic things and threatening Tasha,” Michael explained.

“An old man?” Root asked, thinking of Greer. Michael shook his head.

“No, he was around my age, maybe a little younger,” Michael said with a confused shrug. Root nodded. It was almost certainly Jeremy Lambert. She wondered why Lambert was being tasked with threatening Evans.

“They really are always watching. They- they’re inside my apartment. And _Tasha’s_ apartment…” He took a huge breath, covering his face with his hands. “We can’t run from them- they see _everything_. And if they want me dead, that’s it. It’s impossible to hide from them. And because of me, they’re going to kill Tasha too.”

“Your girlfriend is with one of the only people on Earth that I would trust with my life,” she told him as reassuringly as she could. He removed his hands from his face and looked up at her fearfully. She smiled at him as best she could, thinking of Shaw in the subway station. “And hiding from them? Is not as impossible as you think.”

Pranav finally pulled into the parking garage.

“Drive to the very back, by the service elevator,” she told him, redirecting him when he started to turn down a row. As soon as the car was in park, Root had her door open and was rounding the car, opening Evans’ door and pulling him out of the leg space. His arm was bleeding more than she would have liked but they didn’t have time to worry about it at the moment.

“Pranav, get out of the car, you’re coming with us,” she instructed him, dragging Evans over to the elevator. She looked up, saw the security camera pointed at them, and shot it. Then she pushed the button to call the elevator, wiping some of Evans’ blood on the button. Pranav had just stepped behind her.

“What are you doing? They’re going to find us,” he was panicking. Root turned to him and smiled like he was just precious.

“You said there was an unlocked car?” Root asked the Machine.

“What? What are you talking about?” Pranav asked, looking confused. She could tell he was thinking about running.

“You’re going to want to stick with us,” Root told him, her nose wrinkling, “I’m your best bet at surviving.”

Evans was looking at Root suspiciously. Root was directed to a sedan that had been barely within view of the security camera she’d taken out and she led the other two over to it. She tried the driver’s door and found it unlocked, just as she’d been told it would be. She popped the trunk.

“After you,” she told Pranav, motioning for him to get in.

“No,” he said, shaking his head emphatically, “No way!”

She rolled her eyes and pointed her gun at him.

“Get in the trunk, or I’m going to shoot you,” she told him. She could tell that Pranav was trying hard not to cry as he put his shaking hands up in defeat and climbed into the trunk. She motioned with the gun for Evans to follow, pushing him towards the dark opening. He hesitated, but did as he was directed. She followed suit, pushing Evans deeper into the trunk, and pulled the lid shut forcefully.

They were plunged into complete darkness.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this! Thanks again for being so understanding about me needing to take a little more time to write each chapter.
> 
> The response from you guys continues to amaze me. I'm pleased that so many of you are loving this story!

Root could hear both men’s rapid breathing and she closed her eyes against the black, slowing her own breathing and trying to hear if there was anyone approaching. They were packed in tight. Root was laying uncomfortably, her bad arm tucked against her chest. Her shins and Pranav’s were jammed against one another, and Evans’ head was beside their knees. She was surprised they’d managed to all fit. They were so close that she could feel the space heating up with their breath immediately. She shifted the gun in her hand.

“Root?” Shaw’s voice in her ear made Root’s heart pound, faster than it had been beating when she was being shot at by Martine and the other operatives in the SUV.

“You staying out of trouble like I asked?” Root whispered.

“Yeah,” Shaw replied, and Root felt a rush of relief. With annoyance and concern, Shaw continued after a pause, “Gotta say, I really wish you were doing the same.”

Root’s chest ached with affection. She wanted desperately to be near Shaw instead of in the dark trunk.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, because the building you just went inside? The parking deck is separate from the rest of the cameras. It’s a closed circuit security system inside,” Shaw said. “The Machine can’t see you in there.”

Root understood what the plan was now. The Machine couldn’t see what was inside, and that meant neither could Samaritan- at least not without getting operatives in first and hacking the security feeds. That was why She had told Root to put some of Evans’ blood on the elevator button. The hope was that Samaritan would assume Root had taken them inside the building to hide, when in reality they were still in the parking deck. And since the car they were currently hidden inside of had been just within view of the camera Root had destroyed, they wouldn’t know right away where they had disappeared to.

It was far from a flawless plan- Samaritan _could_ immediately guess what the Machine was up to. But it would probably buy them some time- even if it was only a few seconds. And it gave them the best bet at surviving.

“If She can’t see us, neither can they,” Root said quietly.

“Yeah, and neither can _I_ ,” Shaw said, the frustration in her voice clear. “What’s going on in there?”

“I don’t know, because we didn’t go inside. We’re hiding in the trunk of a car,” Root told Shaw.

“You _what_?” Shaw barked in horror. Then after a beat, she sounded immensely impressed. Root could picture her narrowed eyes as she spoke. “That’s actually sort of _genius_.”

“Hey, who are you talking to?” Evans hissed through the darkness.

“She’s crazy- she’s going to kill us both,” Pranav whispered, his voice rough like he was crying.

“Stop talking,” Root commanded them.

“No, I want to know what the hell is going on,” Evans said, raising his voice. Root twisted in the tiny space and grabbed in his direction. When she found his throat she closed her fingers hard, feeling the sharp pull of the scabs when he tried to tear her hand from his neck.

“I will tell you what’s going on as soon as we’re safe. But if you start yelling, they will find us, and we won’t make it that far,” Root told him harshly, channeling Shaw and all of her brutal efficiency. “So stop talking. Both of you. And let me chat with my friend.”

“Sounds like I’m rubbing off on you,” Shaw said, and Root could hear how pleased she was. Evans was silent, and Pranav was still snuffling quietly.

“I know how much you like it when I take charge,” Root teased, laying the innuendo on thick as she released Evans’ throat. “And we both know you’ve rubbed off on me… once or twice.”

“Root,” Shaw warned, but Root could hear the smirk in her voice, “You’re hiding in a trunk with a number and a cabbie. That blonde chick who tried to kill me is pulling into the parking garage as we speak. Now is not the time.”

Root smirked to herself and closed her eyes in the dark again, breathing deeply.

“You’re going to want to keep your buddies quiet- they’re heading straight for the elevator,” Shaw said. Root tried to keep calm in the claustrophobic space. Shaw was very still on the other end of the line. “They’re almost there. Okay, I can’t see them anymore. They’re practically on top of you.”

Root heard the SUV roar close by and then car doors opened and shut hard, the engine cutting off.

“We’ve got blood over here,” a muffled voice said. Root held her breath. There was a reply that wasn’t loud enough for Root to make out what had been said, and then the elevator beeped.

Then there was silence. She couldn’t be sure if they’d gone up in the service elevator or if they were surrounding the car.

“Root, are you still there?” Shaw asked.

“I can’t hear anything,” Root whispered back. She swallowed hard against the lump of fear forming in her throat.

“So now what? You bust out of the trunk, hope they’re gone, and run out of there?” Shaw asked. A realization hit Root that made her stomach plummet. 

“About that- I can’t open the trunk from the inside,” Root told Shaw.

“The Machine put you in a trunk with no escape plan? I’m sending Reese your way,” Shaw said angrily. Root squeezed her eyes shut against the panic that was building inside of her. The Machine had to have a plan. The Machine _always_ had a plan.

“Wait, hang on. There’s somebody walking your direction. A guy in a suit, talking on a cell phone,” Shaw said.

“One of them?” Root asked.

“I don’t know. I’m trying to run facial recognition,” Shaw muttered, and Root could hear the fear creeping into Shaw’s voice more and more. “I’m not as good at this stuff as Finch is. Damn it. Too slow, he’s in my blind spot now.”

When Shaw continued, Root could tell she was trying to convince both of them. “He’s probably just passing by. You know, maybe he has nothing to do with any of this. I’m going to call John and see where he is, send him to you. Okay?”

Just as Root was wondering how this was going to end, she felt the car shift a tiny bit. A door opened and shut.

“Oh my god,” Evans muttered breathlessly. It sounded like he was possibly crying now too.

The engine grumbled to life.

“Don’t bother, I won’t be here,” Root told Shaw, her voice tight. The car started to move.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Shaw said. The car must have rolled into view of another camera. The pitch of Shaw’s voice escalated. “Does he know you’re in there?”

“I don’t know,” Root admitted.

“Okay. I’m looking up the plates now. The Machine can follow the car, one of us will come and find you,” Shaw said.

“Not you,” Root said quickly.

“Yeah I got it, I know I’m supposed to stay here,” Shaw said fiercely. “I’ll send Reese or Lionel. Stay quiet, and they’ll get to you as soon as they can, okay?”

“Okay,” Root said, trying to brace herself and finding nothing to keep her from sliding into Evans, her knees connecting with his head and her own head bumping into his elbows. She hoped that Shaw hadn’t guessed how worried she was.

“Is this a part of the plan?” Evans asked breathlessly. Root shut her eyes. She could feel warm liquid on her head and realized she was pressing into Evans’ cut forearm.

“A friend of mine is going to meet us,” Root said.

“Meet us _where_?” Evans asked.

“Please. I have a wife, and kids. Two of them. Priyanka and Utsav,” Pranav said. His voice was slightly muffled- Root could only guess that Evans’ back had slid into him.

“We just have to wait and stay quiet,” Root told him.

She kept her eyes shut as whoever was driving continued on to wherever it was that he was going.

They were slung around the trunk for what seemed like an eternity, and Root found herself wishing that Shaw would call her back. It wasn’t necessary- there wasn’t anything more that Shaw could do, but Root felt an increasing desire to hear Shaw’s voice.

Finally, the engine shut off.

Root felt and heard the door open and shut. Her heart beat fast and hard, thunderous in her chest. Every second that passed made her more sure that the trunk was going to be opened and they were all going to be killed. The Machine was silent in her ear, and she wanted to ask Her to connect her to Shaw, ask Her what to do next, ask Her anything. Even though she was as close to these two men as she could get, she felt frighteningly alone.

The trunk clicked and swung open.

Root twisted and pointed her gun up at the man in a baseball cap standing over her, the sun behind him blinding her momentarily.

“Please don’t kill me,” Pranav cried. The man standing over them didn’t answer right away.

“Have a nice ride?” It was John. Root sighed with relief, shutting her eyes. The Machine hadn’t said anything because She didn’t need to- everything was fine.

“I’ve had worse,” Root said, playing off her anxiety like she had known all along that she was going to be okay. She tried to get up and her arm hurt from having been awkwardly positioned for so long. Reese saw her wince and reached in to help her get up. Root joked, “I’ve also had better.”

“I’ll bet,” Reese said with a tired smile. Root looked around as she stepped onto solid ground, trying to determine where they were. Reese turned and saw that she was looking for clues. “We’re in Queens. Looks like your man left work early for a dentist appointment.”

“We were saved by a _dentist appointment_?” Evans asked, appalled.

“Pranav, do you think you can make it home from here?” Root asked the cab driver who was just standing up, rubbing the back of his head. Reese shut the trunk as Pranav looked around and nodded. “Alright, thanks for playing. I’ll see what I can do about getting you a new cab.”

Pranav didn’t need any more encouragement. Without another word, he hurried down the street.

“Any sign that they knew what was happening?” Root asked John as she took Evans’ arm and started walking the opposite direction. The Machine was giving directions again.

“Not yet,” Reese replied as he walked beside her. Root followed the Machine’s directions to a laundromat and dragged Evans into the doorway.

“Stay right here, facing the street. I’m going to get us some disguises,” Root told Evans and Reese before ducking inside.

After Root and Evans had zipped up their hooded jackets, all three hurried down the street with their faces shielded as much as possible, Root and Reese on either side of Evans. The Machine led Root on a circuitous route, picking the pocket of a young woman who had two sets of keys- Root left one set undisturbed, as She requested.

When they reached an apartment building, Root unhesitatingly used the keys to let them in. She could tell that Evans was both impressed and concerned as they entered.

“We need to stay put for the time being. They’re going to be looking for us. In case they do figure out that we escaped, this gives us somewhere to lay low,” Root said, pulling off her hooded jacket and hanging it up in the coat closet. The apartment was nice and fairly large. The Machine told her that the owners had gone abroad and the woman she’d lifted the keys from was the house sitter.

“No. No, we should get back to Manhattan. We’re going to get trapped out here,” Evans was getting worked up and Root could tell that John agreed with him.

“It’s going to be easy for them to watch the bridges. If we wait aren’t we just giving them more time to figure out where we are and set up closer surveillance at the entrances to the city?” John asked.

“Apparently not,” Root said, hoping that John would understand that she meant that the Machine was telling her that this was the best plan. The Machine filled Root in further. “Tomorrow morning Fusco will come here and pick us up. Get comfy, boys.”

John looked at his wrist watch and then at Evans. Root could tell he was dreading this.

“So. You wanna tell us what you did to make your bosses want to kill you?” John asked. Evans fidgeted and looked like he was about to refuse. “Remember that we just saved your life, and are planning on continuing to do so. Make our job a little easier.”

“I didn’t _do_ anything. I looked into what they were doing with the servers that were being installed, and I have some big reservations about the company. I was talking to my girlfriend about what I learned, and told her that I wanted the public to know too- we _deserve_ to know that our government is spying on us every fucking second of every day,” Evans was starting to yell again, sputtering angrily. John gave Root a sidelong glance.

“Mr. Evans, I think there’s something else that you’re not telling us,” Reese said, his brow furrowed. Root had to admit she agreed. She still didn’t understand why Samaritan was planning on killing Evans if all he wanted to do was tell people they were being surveilled.

The Machine spoke in her ear, and Root turned as Evans sat down on the couch. She crossed the room and stood over him while John watched from a few feet away. She understood suddenly why Evans was in danger.

“You know where they’re building the new servers,” she said, feeling stupid for not having realized it sooner.

“Yeah, they had me designing the plans for months without knowing where they were going to be, and I kept telling them that location can affect a lot of things, so I wanted to be completely sure that the designs they’re building are exactly like they should be for whatever climate they’re in,” Evans said. “So finally the other day they told me, as a last double check before they installed the servers. They already built the buildings, and I kept telling them that was backwards, but it turns out everything is fine anyway.”

John and Root made eye contact and she knew that he too understood why Evans and his girlfriend were in trouble.

“And you told Tasha where they were being built?” Reese asked. Evans shrugged and nodded.

“She’s an engineer too, I asked her opinion on why she thought they’d been keeping it a secret from me,” he explained. John shut his eyes and turned away. Evans shifted on the couch, looking up at Root. “Tasha’s okay, right? You said you trusted the guy she was with.”

John looked over his shoulder at Root thoughtfully before he replied.

“She’s fine. She’s with the police.”

“With the police? That’s not _fine_ , they’re probably working with my bosses,” Evans yelled, indignant.

“Not the guy she’s with. He’ll take care of her,” Reese promised. He pulled out his cell phone. “In fact, you should call her. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

Evans looked hesitant, but took the phone from Reese’s hand and followed Reese’s gesture to the bedroom. Root sat down on the sofa and after a beat, Reese joined her, sitting with quite a bit of distance between them. Once he heard Evans start to talk, Reese turned to look at her.

“Their numbers are up because of us,” he said, his voice rough and quiet. Root nodded.

“Samaritan must know that we’re looking for the servers. And that man and his girlfriend are our best bet at figuring out what Samaritan is planning next,” Root said. She could feel her heartbeat increasing, her breathing a little shallow with both anxiety and excitement. “They can give us a map of all of the new servers. He _built_ the facilities, and now he’s having second thoughts. He could help us completely destroy Samaritan. Maybe the plan all along was to wait until everything was in order, give him all the information he needed at the last second, and then get rid of him to keep him from telling anyone.”

“But wouldn’t Samaritan have known that we’d figure it out? That if they targeted Evans, we’d come and try to save him? Their plan to have him killed is the only reason we knew he even existed,” John asked.

“Maybe they _wanted_ us to figure it out. Maybe Samaritan is taunting us. Letting us know that they’re onto us,” Root said. She was feeling increasingly nervous again. If Samaritan knew that they were planning something, things were going to keep getting worse.

“Well at least we have him, and once he’s told us where all the facilities are, we’re going to have a leg up,” John said, trying to be reassuring.

Evans re-entered the room, looking much less worried now than he had a minute before.

John turned to her with a tight smile.

“Do you have someone _you_ should check in with?” he teased. Root knew he was joking to make light of the situation, but she _did_ want to talk to Shaw, and she knew Shaw would want to know they’d made it out of the trunk alive.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for continuing to read this and leave comments and give kudos!
> 
> [Here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3y9ZNBUChH4013yF5RmTmldX524BFa8q) are a few songs that I listened to while writing this chapter.

“How’s my favorite fugitive?” Root asked Shaw playfully when the Machine connected her. She sauntered towards the bedroom window, peering out from behind the draperies to look at the street outside.

“Reese found you?” Shaw asked.

“Yes, we’re staying in Queens for the night,” Root told her.

“What the hell is in Queens?” Shaw asked, and Root could tell she was frustrated by not being able to see what was happening.

“The dentist, apparently,” Root replied with a smirk. She could tell that she was only making Shaw more annoyed. “Do me a favor? Tell Lionel to pick us up tomorrow morning. In a van. I’ll send you the address.”

“Tell him yourself,” Shaw said dismissively.

“You’ll see him later- he should be stopping by. I told him to bring Bear to you. And dinner,” Root explained. She could tell that Shaw wanted to refuse the visit, but the possibility of having the dog back and getting some food was apparently appealing enough that she didn’t say anything.

When Root returned from the bedroom, John was sitting in the kitchen with Evans. Reese was leaning over Evan’s forearm, removing shards of broken glass with tweezers.

The afternoon sun was shining in on them through the window, and Root felt strangely sad. The apartment was a nice home, with framed photos of a happy couple on the end tables, cheery dish towels, and healthy plants on the window sill beside the breakfast table. The Machine informed her that the potted plants were rosemary and thyme. Root had to look away from them because the normalcy of it made her stomach hurt. She didn’t really want this- an apartment with everything just so. But part of her, deep down, still ached because she couldn’t have it even if she _did_ want it.

John dropped a piece of glass onto a bloody paper towel set beside him on the walnut table and looked up at Root when she leaned against the marble counter top.

At the rate their little team was going, none of them would live long enough to retire into a life like this. She couldn’t imagine any of them going out without guns blazing. And this house would never see that kind of life. They were perverting the home just by staying the night. They’d been here less than twenty minutes and already there was minor surgery being performed at the kitchen table.

The afternoon passed slowly. Evans was anxious, pacing the apartment, but Reese and Root were confident that they were safe, and while they were careful to keep an eye on the cars outside, ensuring that no one was outside watching them, they silently agreed there was nothing to be concerned about.

A few hours passed with the television playing daytime schlock in the background, white noise to disguise Evans’ worry. Then the evening news came on and Reese got up from the kitchen table where he was cleaning his gun and looked through the cupboards and refrigerator.

Root put the television on mute and went to help him piece together a meal. They ate what they could find. There were a number of beers in the refrigerator, and John opened one for each of them without asking the other two if they wanted them.

After they’d finished eating their meager dinner, all three of them stayed sitting around the little kitchen table. Evans explained what he knew about Samaritan- that they were in a surveillance state and that the government was watching every movement made by every single person.

“I think they must have a computer processing all that data,” Evans said, and paused, swallowing hard like he knew they would think he was crazy when he spoke next. “I think they built a super-computer or something. I think it makes decisions for them, and they tell it who to dig up dirt on and it does it. Just like that.”

He snapped his fingers. Reese looked over at Root from the corner of his eye.

“You think I’m crazy, but-”

“No, we don’t,” Root interrupted him with a tight smile. Evans paused, looking between Reese and Root.

“We believe you,” Reese affirmed.

The relief on Evans’ face was clear. He looked like he might cry.

“Why? I mean, how do you just believe me?” he asked, shaking his head. “Tasha- I had to explain _everything_. I had to show her all the information that I dug up.”

“We’ve been watching your employers for quite a while now. We’ve been trying to stop them for months,” Reese explained.

“And now, we have a plan to end this. A plan that’s possible because of _you_ , Michael,” Root told him. Evans looked confused and Root leaned forward, putting her good elbow on the table. “I need you to show me all of the sites that you’ve been working on.”

Evans hesitated.

“I don’t want to hurt anybody,” Evans said, realizing what sort of plan the two people with guns might be involved with.

“This may be our only chance to stop them. Because you’re right- every day, they control more of the government. _Talking_ is not going to stop them. You’ll just be labeled as a terrorist and shipped off to Rikers,” Root told him, her eyes darkening significantly. She could tell she’d convinced him before he’d nodded.

Reese got up from the table to get himself another beer. While they were talking, it had gotten dark outside. Evans was looking increasingly tired, and the Machine told Root that he’d been up most of the previous night working, just as he’d done the night that Root watched him from across the street. She told him to take the bedroom, and he gratefully headed to bed.

Reese checked on him twice, saw that he was fast asleep the second time, and got two more beers from the fridge, going to sit on the couch and holding one of the beers out towards Root, still sitting in the kitchen. She got up, taking her gun with her, and came to sit down the sofa from him.

On the television, there was a cop drama playing silently, exaggerated muzzle flares punctuating long scenes between two of the central characters, gazing longingly at one another.

Root and Reese sat at opposite ends of the couch in silence for a few minutes, watching the action play out on the screen.

“I didn’t think I would ever like you,” Reese said suddenly. He drank from his beer. She looked over at him, and he picked up the remote control, turning the TV off.

“And I thought you were just Harry’s goon. Things change,” Root replied with a smile, raising her bottle to him. Reese nodded and then leaned forward, his face becoming more somber.

“She told me something once,” John said. Root tilted her head questioningly. She knew immediately that he was talking about Sameen, before he’d even continued. She could tell from the sad little smile on his face. “She told me that she’s all about the one-night-only kind of relationship. Three nights tops. I guess that’s if she really enjoys it.”

Root smiled back at him, matching his sorrowful expression, looking at the gun in her hands.

“Are you trying to warn me that I’m overstaying my welcome? Brace for impact?” Root asked after a long pause, her smile tight. She flexed her fingers, watching the way the scabs and scar tissue pulled and moved over her knuckles.

“No,” Reese said, his voice low. Root kept looking at her hands.

“I’m telling you that I think you mean a lot to her- she’s breaking her rules for you,” Reese continued. Root looked at him cautiously, saw the melancholy in his eyes. “I think you’re good for her. And I’m glad that she has you.”

“I’m glad I have her,” Root said, surprised at how choked her words sounded, her eyes pricking with tears. She swallowed hard, blinking them away as best she could. “And I know that it must seem strange. I know that we’re both… well, unconventional, to say the least.”

She laughed through her words, trying to conceal just how much she was feeling. John was still watching her with that same downcast smile on his face.

“Like I said- I never thought I would like you, but _Shaw_ likes you,” Reese said, worrying at the paper label on the bottle in his hands. His smile shifted to something less upset. “I never thought I’d like _her_ , but she’s saved my skin more than once.”

He looked at the television, the blank screen. After a beat, he said, “She’s sort of a… a little sister to me.”

Root scoffed and he looked at her sternly.

“They’re my family,” Reese said. They sat in silence for a long couple of minutes before he spoke again.

“I’ve lost people I care about. Once, I didn’t say how I felt, and I will always regret that. Who knows, maybe I could have saved her,” Reese said, taking another drink. Root mirrored his action and then tilted her glass bottle, watching the way the beer caught the light from the lamp on the end table. Reese sighed. “And then, I… I _did_ tell someone that I cared for them. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough to stop the son of a bitch who shot her.”

“Detective Carter?” Root asked sympathetically. Reese finished the rest of his beer in a couple long gulps.

“I guess the Machine’s probably told you everything there is to know,” Reese said, and she could hear the faint bitterness in his voice.

“I try not to ask Her things like that anymore. One thing that I’ve learned from Harold? Respecting a person’s privacy can go a long way,” she said, suddenly very tired. “Why are you telling me all this?”

She heard Reese take a deep breath, and thought she could hear a little shake in it. She couldn’t look at him.

“I’ve learned that we shouldn’t wait. With our jobs, you never know what might happen next,” John said, meeting her eyes darkly. Root felt sick. It was hard enough to recognize this fact on her own. Having John say it, out loud, just made it worse. It was always possible that there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.

John got up from the couch, avoiding looking her in the eye as he went to the kitchen and put his empty bottle in the recycling bin under the sink, following the action by cleaning up the other bottles from the table. Root watched him, then looked at the bottle in one of her hands, the gun in the other. Reese turned back from the kitchen and, still without looking at Root, headed towards the bedroom.

“I’m going to check on Evans,” he said. Root got up and poured the rest of her beer down the sink, wondering what Sameen was doing in the subway station. She almost called her, but then Reese was returning from the bedroom with a pillow and two blankets. “He’s out like a light.”

Root nodded and watched John put one of the blankets on the sofa and then put the pillow on the ground near the door, dropping the second blanket beside it. She realized that he was giving her the couch to sleep on and thought about stopping him but he’d already laid down on the ground, checking his gun and resting it beside him.

She turned off the lamp on the end table and laid down on the sofa. It was a little too short for her to lay comfortably, and she missed the warmth of Sameen’s body. If she was going to sleep on something that was too small to accommodate her, she’d rather it be too small because she was sharing the space.

She watched passing cars cast shifting shadows on the wall and waited for sleep to come, but knew she wouldn’t be able to drift off any time soon.

“I’m sorry that you’ve lost people,” Root said into the darkness. She wasn’t sure if Reese was still awake. He didn’t reply for what felt like an eternity. Another car’s headlights threw bright streaks of yellow across the room.

“She says she doesn’t care about people,” Reese said finally. Root knew again that he was talking about Shaw and wondered where he was going with this. “I used to wish I could be like her. She says she has a personality disorder. But the thing is, she diagnosed herself. That’s not reliable. It becomes sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

He paused, and Root waited to see if he would continue.

“I don’t mean that I think she’s a healthy, well-adjusted member of society. She isn’t. But she’s less messed up than she thinks she is,” Reese said. Root turned her head to look in his direction. He was laying flat on his back. “She _does_ care.”

“I know,” Root said quietly.

“Does _she_ know?” Reese asked, his head turning slightly towards her. In the dark, she couldn’t see his face, and knew he couldn’t see hers either. She wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I think she’s starting to,” Root told him. He turned his head back to look straight up at the ceiling.

——————————

The next morning Root was sitting at the kitchen table when Fusco pull up outside the building in a windowless van.

The plan was for Fusco to leave Root on the shadow map in Manhattan so she could take care of some errands, then take Reese and Evans to the safe house where Tasha was in hiding. Root would do some regrouping at the subway station (if she could make it back there undetected) and then she would take Evans and Tasha out of New York to locate the server warehouses that Evans had helped design. Tasha would be dropped off somewhere remote to stay put while Evans and Root worked their way from location to location to plan the coming strike on Samaritan.

Fusco came up the front steps in a baseball cap and knocked on the door. Root let him in.

“I didn’t want to come in a police van- thought that’d seem suspicious,” he said as he entered. Reese was looking at Evans’ forearm on the couch where Root had slept. Fusco spotted them. “Never a dull moment with you guys, huh?”

“How was Shaw?” Root asked, trying to sound casual as she went to the coat closet and got the jackets she’d stolen from the laundromat the day before.

“Pissed off,” Fusco said as if this was a stupid question. He continued, offended. “And I’m doing great, driving around to pick you guys up, smuggling you from borough to borough, hiding people with hit squads after them. Life’s just peachy.”

She smiled at him unsympathetically.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Reese said, finishing taping bandages over the superficial cuts and standing up. He grabbed his baseball cap from the kitchen counter and pulled it on, taking one of the hooded jackets from Root and tossing it to Evans.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is a little late! Some stuff came up today but it's all sorted now and I'm ready to post!
> 
> As always, thanks for all the comments and kudos!

Root spent hours following the Machine’s instructions. She was tired from sleeping poorly on the couch in the Queens apartment, and found her mind straying back to the conversation she’d had with John the night before, even as she dealt with illegal arms dealers, stole the dry cleaning from outside of an apartment, and carjacked a dark blue four door sedan- nothing flashy, an intentionally ordinary make and model.

When the late afternoon rolled around, the Machine told Root to head to the subway station. She called Reese to tell him where she was going, and was pleased and amused that he understood immediately that she meant she was going to see Shaw, and would prefer it if the others would stay away. Evans and Tasha were safely tucked away for the night, and John said that he was going to stay with them, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious because Evans still seemed anxious. He then told her with a smirk in his voice that he would tell Fusco he didn’t need to bring Shaw dinner.

Root hid the car in a nearby parking garage that She pointed her to, and then made her way through Manhattan on foot again, stopping in a pet store to pick up a dog toy for Bear that required him to figure out how to get treats out of the center. She knew that Shaw was probably antsy being in the subway station, and that repeatedly ending their conversations on an uncertain note would probably have left her irritated. With Shaw, even though it had been a full day since the transgression had occurred, Root knew that she should be prepared to apologize.

Then the Machine gave her a phone number, which she called up, not sure what to expect. It was the Angus Club Steakhouse. Root fumbled for a second when she was asked if the order was for pick-up or delivery, and then the Machine gave her an address for the steakhouse to deliver to and directed her a few blocks out of her way. When she was asked if she wanted the usual, she said yes, not sure what that meant. She made her way to the address, curious to see what She was leading her to. The building was far from the nicest on the block.

It ended up being the apartment of a drug dealer and his ‘coworkers’, who were just starting a gunfight with some Aryan Brotherhood goons. She let them shoot one another and then entered the apartment, shooting the remaining drug dealer in the knees and exploring the apartment while waiting for the delivery person from the steakhouse to arrive. She wondered if whoever was on their way for ‘the usual’ was coming for drugs or money or something else entirely.

Root went into the bedroom and found that the entirety of the double bed was covered in stacks of money. The Machine pointed her to a duffle bag from the dresser, and she started scooping stacks of hundred dollar bills into it. Once she’d tested the weight with her good arm, she filled the pockets of her jacket as well, then put the bag down on the coffee table, sitting on the couch to count it while she waited for whatever was coming next.

There was a knock on the door, and Root picked her gun up, taking a deep breath. She looked through the peephole and found herself looking at the magnified face of a kid no older than eighteen, an insulated cooler bag in his hands. She couldn’t see any sort of weapons, so she opened the door a little, just enough that he could see her but not into the apartment where the bodies of the drug dealers were laying haphazardly.

He looked confused, and tried to look past her into the apartment, then checked the number beside the door like he thought he was at the wrong place.

“Uh- did you order food? Is Julien here?” he asked.

“Yes, I called in the order,” Root said firmly, still trying to size up what this kid was doing with the drug dealers. He looked as anxious as she felt, but seemed to decide to just get it over with. He unzipped the bag and started to pull out a couple of takeout boxes in plastic bags.

“Open it,” Root said stiffly, her gun just out of view. The kid looked startled, but opened the top box with fumbling hands, almost dropping the rest of the containers.

Root shifted the pistol in her hand.

The lid popped up and she saw that inside there was a large sirloin steak. She blinked in surprise as the kid explained what each box contained, double checking the receipt as he went. A twenty two ounce sirloin, a rib eye, grilled chilean sea bass, asparagus, broccoli, steak fries. Root swallowed and flicked the safety on the gun, stuffing it into her jacket pocket.

It was food. Nice food, from one of the highest rated steakhouses in the city. She never stopped being impressed by the Machine.

She paid the kid in cash and tipped him two hundred dollars to leave the insulated bag as well. As soon as she was sure that the kid was well on his way, she made her way downstairs, loaded down with food and the large bag of cash.

Her elbow grew sore as she reached the last few blocks.

The closer that Root got to the entrance of the subway station, the more she could feel a smile growing on her face.

She shifted the bags she was carrying as she made her way down the steps. Before she had rounded the corner, Bear came sprinting towards her, hackles raised and ears up like he was ready to attack. When he saw that it was Root he immediately relaxed, sniffing with interest at the food she was carrying.

She stepped off the bottom step and rounded the corner with Bear in tow.

Shaw was exiting the subway car with the flip knife in hand, looking ready to go to battle. Root smiled playfully at her and watched Shaw’s determined expression melt into mild annoyance and surprise, approaching Root with interest. Root couldn’t help but note how similar Shaw and the dog were- always ready to fight. And then once they realized that there wasn’t a threat and it was something they knew and liked, they could flip their internal switch back into relaxation almost instantaneously.

“You shouldn’t be carrying stuff that’s heavy with your arm healing,” Shaw scolded her, taking the bags from her hands. She sounded and looked annoyed, but Root was touched by the sentiment nonetheless.

“Nice to see you too,” Root teased as Shaw turned and walked back into the subway car with the bags.

Shaw quickly put them down on the desk and turned to shut the laptop sitting on the built-in seats before Root could see it. The action did not escape Root. She remembered the day before when Shaw had closed a window she’d been looking at and wondered what Shaw was up to.

Root still had the duffle bag of money over her shoulder, and tried to lift it off over her head but her elbow was sore from carrying the food. She was dismayed that she felt weak. It took Shaw no time to step forward and help, lifting the bag and then holding it in her hands, looking at it curiously as she weighed its contents.

“Drug money,” Root said by way of explanation. Shaw raised her eyebrows.

“Of course it’s drug money,” she said under her breath, and put it down in Finch’s desk chair. Then she turned back towards the remainder of the bags. Bear was sniffing at them with excitement.

“Los,” Shaw commanded him, and Bear immediately withdrew his nose. He came over to her feet and sat down, pushing his head against her hip so she would pet him. “He’s been going nuts. I think he got even less exercise with Fusco than he does when he’s stuck down here.”

Root looked at him sympathetically and went to the table, opening one of the bags and handing Shaw the dog toy and treats.

“Marcia from the pet store tells me this is great for bored, smart dogs,” she said with a little smile and tilt of her head. Shaw looked genuinely pleased, and that made Root’s stomach flip. Maybe Shaw wouldn’t be angry about the limited and stressful conversations they’d had in the last thirty six hours after all.

Root watched Shaw unwrap the dog toy and put some treats inside of it. The dog was watching the process as well as soon as he smelled the treats. When Shaw threw it out the door of the subway car he lunged after it, chewing with vigor. Both Root and Shaw could tell that it was going to take him a while to figure out how to make the treats fall out.

“I also brought something for _you_ ,” Root said, looking over at Shaw. Shaw was watching Bear with the smallest hint of a smile on her face, tucking her lower lip into her mouth when she looked over at Root. Root tipped her head to the side, one side of her mouth curving into a smirk as she stepped over to the table and the insulated bag.

She unzipped it and pulled out the bags of food. Shaw immediately turned fully to look at Root and stepped towards her when she saw the name on the bags.

“Are you kidding me? This place has the best sirloin in the city,” Shaw said, impressed and pleased. Root pursed her lips to keep from smiling wider.

“The Machine has good taste,” she joked. She could see Shaw’s eyebrows pull together and her mouth twisted down at the corners for a moment before she masked her dismay with a blank expression. Root wondered what had caused the shift, but Shaw had looked away, out towards Bear, who was snuffling excitedly at the toy Root had bought him, still desperately trying to work out how to get the treats from inside.

“It’s too bad they don’t make those for humans,” Root said, stepping closer behind Shaw. Root joked, “I need to find you something like that to keep you from going crazy.”

She could sense Shaw stiffening, and then Shaw turned back to Root, stoic.

“I thought that was _you_. Isn’t that the Machine’s plan?” Shaw asked, her words bitingly blunt. Root was stung and confused, thinking to herself that they’d already cleared this up. She recoiled like a snake and then struck back.

“For someone who doesn’t have feelings, you sure need to be reassured a lot,” Root said bitterly. Even with all of her stoicism, Shaw’s eyes gave away how hurt she felt. They stared at one another for a few long seconds, and then Root looked down at her hands, turning away, letting Shaw win the stare-down.

“I told you before- I’m here because I want to be here,” Root said, and then paused. “Would you rather I stay away?”

Shaw didn’t answer.

Root nodded, then looked at Shaw, who was chewing on her bottom lip.

“I guess it doesn’t matter either way. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m not sure when I’m going to be able to get back,” Root told Shaw. She watched Shaw’s eyebrows scrunch together in concern.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Wherever Evans says that Samaritan is,” Root told her. They were both quiet for a minute. Root could tell that Shaw’s mind was racing through the possibilities of what that meant. Root started towards the stairs. She had a feeling that Shaw would stop her, and as immature as it was, she wanted to make her do so. She’d only made it a few steps across the platform when Shaw spoke.

“Fusco brought me beer yesterday. I saved it…” Shaw’s voice bounced off the hard surfaces of the subway station. Root paused and looked over her shoulder towards Shaw. “I figured I didn’t need to be _completely_ pathetic and drink alone.”

Root remained still, waiting for Shaw to say something more akin to an invitation. Shaw took a few steps toward Root.

“Stay,” Shaw said, more like a question than a statement, moving to stand in front of Root. Despite the note of annoyance in Shaw’s voice, Root could feel her eyebrows tug upwards, giving away the hurt she felt. Shaw looked into her eyes hard. After a few beats, where Root could tell Shaw was trying to find something more to say and coming up empty, Shaw took a deep breath. “You look tired.”

Root figure this was as close to a ‘please’ or an apology as she was going to get, so she smiled a small, sad smile and gave a little nod of her head.

Shaw put a hand on Root’s good elbow and gave it a reassuring squeeze before heading back to the subway car, passing by the dog. Bear was shaking the toy vigorously, still having a great time. Root watched him for a moment and then followed Shaw.

“So what? You stopped by a steakhouse on the way back from busting a drug dealer?” Shaw asked. Root could tell she was trying to dispel the tension between them and found herself smiling.

“Something like that,” she said lightly, hoping she sounded more carefree than she felt. Shaw opened the box on top and when she saw the steak inside, she turned to give Root a look like she wanted to kiss her she was so happy.

“Your robot knows its stuff,” she said sarcastically. Root closed the distance between them, stepping squarely into Shaw’s space as she smiled playfully down at the shorter woman.

“Like I've told you before, She's not a robot,” Root scolded with a smirk, her voice low. Shaw cracked a smile and leaned against the table, reaching out and grabbing the pocket of Root’s jacket. She pulled Root into her. Just as Shaw was about to kiss Root, she paused and looked confused. She looked at her hand in Root’s pocket and pulled out a stack of bills. Root took the money from her pockets and tossed it onto the table. Shaw watched with amusement as the hundred dollar bills hit the table top. While Shaw was still shaking her head, Root put a hand on the shorter woman’s cheek, stilling the motion, and kissed her.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late in the day again! I'm _hoping_ to get a shorter chapter up on Wednesday. Emphasis on the 'hope' haha!
> 
> Thanks, as always, for being so great! I looked out of curiosity and this story has received so many kudos it's one of the most 'liked' Person of Interest stories on the site!! I'm flabbergasted. I guess being a novel-length work helps??

Shaw was tender and longing, keeping Root close against her while they kissed. When they broke apart, Root saw Shaw’s eyes dart over to the food surreptitiously and she chuckled.

“I know you want to eat. I wouldn’t dream of standing in your way,” she joked, starting to back away. Shaw grabbed the pockets of her jacket again and tugged them back together to give her a quick kiss, then let Root move away.

Root was surprised when Shaw laid the blanket out on the platform, retrieving the beer from the fridge and the food from the desk, like they were having a picnic. Root was even more surprised when Shaw left the lights in the subway car on but turned off the rest of the lights and lit an emergency candle between them. It became increasingly obvious that Sameen was avoiding looking directly at Root, like she knew that what she was doing was uncharacteristic and she didn’t want to be asked about it. This, of course, meant that Root was dying to say something. It took all of her willpower to hold her tongue.

They sat down a little stiffly. Neither one of them quite knew what they were doing.

When Root opened the fish, Shaw was skeptical.

“You don’t want steak?” she asked. Root shrugged.

“I wouldn’t want to deprive you or the dog,” Root said with a smirk, she could see Shaw’s eyes lingering on her mouth. “Plus, red meat’s not exactly good for you.”

Shaw raised her eyebrows and scoffed.

“Says the one who told me we wouldn’t live long enough for me to disappoint her,” Shaw said. She swallowed hard and then pursed her lips. “But I guess I’ve already disproven _that_ theory.”

Root reached out and put her hand on Shaw’s knee, scooting closer to her. Shaw smiled tightly, and Root smiled back lightheartedly when she saw the apology in Shaw’s eyes.

“Maybe we should work on our optimism,” Root joked. She was pleased when Shaw softened, tilting her head side to side in amusement.

The tension seemed to have been dispelled somewhat, and as they started to eat, Root felt warm with pleasure. They may not have been in a well-kept Queens apartment with plants in the window, but they had their own normal. That was almost _better_.

Their conversation ebbed and flowed naturally, to Root’s relief. Shaw seemed to have gotten over her annoyance at being left by herself in the subway station wondering if Root and Reese were alright. They were positioned comfortably, facing one another, with one of Shaw’s legs extended towards Root so that she could tuck her cold toes under Root’s thigh.

Bear eventually came over with the toy and dropped it in Shaw’s lap. She congratulated him when she realized that he’d figured out how to get the treats out, and gave him part of one of the steaks. Root liked watching Shaw interact with the dog. It was clear that Bear adored her and treated her like his alpha dog, laying down at her side contentedly while he ate, then immediately going to his bed when he’d finished eating and Shaw sent him away with a single word.

Eventually, the conversation turned to men, and why Shaw had decided she didn’t want or need a relationship with one.

“Most men aren’t man enough for me,” Shaw said, half-joking as she chewed her bite of steak. “They always want to talk about their feelings and be all romantic and crap. Not for me.”

She sounded almost disgusted. Root raised her eyebrow as she looked at Shaw over the stub of a candle that was lit between them in the darkened subway car, and felt Shaw’s toes moving reflexively under her leg.

“This isn’t romantic?” Root teased. Shaw’s eyes narrowed in irritation and she drank a swig of beer, watching Root’s mouth curve into a smirk.

“Okay, but you don’t suck,” Shaw said like this should be obvious. Root raised her eyebrows.

“Honey, you’re making me blush,” Root said, the words dripping with sarcasm. Shaw licked at her teeth inside her mouth to get food out of them as she looked at Root, annoyed. And underneath that annoyance, apologetic.

“You know what I mean,” Sameen said. Her tone was still irritated. Root didn’t respond, pushing her food around the takeaway box with her fork. She knew better than to expect Shaw to compliment her. And she _did_ know what Shaw meant, probably better than Shaw herself did.

Root knew that Shaw was okay that this was romantic because Shaw was with someone she actually wanted to be romantic with, as opposed to all of the men who had thought Shaw cared about them the way they cared about her.

Root smiled at the woman sitting across from her.

“Yeah, I do,” she said.

Root found herself thinking about her conversation with John again. Shaw thought of herself as incapable of feeling anything, but that was simply untrue. She was like a petulant child sometimes, or a teenager with a bad attitude, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel things. And despite being hard to understand at times, Root cared for her deeply.

Shaw started to jab at her steak again with her fork, but paused, looking at Root and cautiously smiling at her after a beat.

“You know… Tomorrow… I could go _with_ you,” Shaw said. “I wouldn’t be in the city; that blonde chick wouldn’t be there to recognize me. They wouldn’t even know I was there.”

Root wanted to say yes. She wanted desperately to say yes. Wanted to tell Shaw to come with her.

“I’d be your back-up. I could make sure you’re safe,” she seemed to realize what she’d said and back-tracked. “I mean, I could make sure Evans is safe.”

“Someone needs to stay here. With Finch gone, John needs someone here at the computer to help him,” Root said. Shaw looked angry.

“This isn’t what I signed up for. I’m supposed to be out saving the numbers,” she said.

“This _is_ saving the numbers,” Root told her. Shaw looked defeated and pissed about it, and Root felt her throat tighten. Shaw jabbed at her steak again and ate a bite. Even the way she chewed, her jaw moving hard and fast, betrayed her absolute frustration.

Root put her food aside and moved towards Shaw on the blanket, watching Shaw watch her. Shaw slowly lowered her own food container to the ground as Root got closer.

“If Finch was here, I’d take you with me,” Root said quietly. “It would be nice to be with you outside. It’d be like old times— you’d be my traveling companion again.”

Shaw kept chewing, then swallowed hard.

“Someday we’ll do it. We’ll go to St. Louis and you can take me to get the steak that’s better than sex,” Root said gently, teasing half-heartedly. The hint of a smile appeared on Shaw’s face and she raised an eyebrow. Root looked at her questioningly, watching Shaw’s jaw tighten, trying to stop smiling. “What?”

Shaw lost a little control of her face when Root spoke, the corners of her mouth curving upward. She pursed her lips.

“I’m thinking it might not live up to the memory,” Shaw said, her dark eyes glinting even as she smiled, trying hard to suppress her grin. Root looked back at her, not sure what she meant. Shaw smirked and poked at her steak. “I’ve had some experiences since then that have proven that uh… that I was wrong.”

Root’s eyebrows raised and she smiled playfully.

“Oh, is that so?” Root asked, putting a hand on Shaw’s knee. Shaw looked at Root’s hand, still smirking. “Must be tough for you to admit you were wrong.”

Shaw shrugged, amused.

“ _That_ ,” she said, her voice low as she leaned towards Root, “Is one thing I’m happy I was wrong about.”

Root took Shaw’s face in her hands, drawing them together to kiss her. Shaw kissed Root back adoringly, pushing her box of food aside and moving closer to Root, forcing her to lean back on the blanket. Root laid back, her sore arm resting on the ground as Shaw moved to be above her. Root let her hand drift up Shaw’s arm, feeling the strong muscles that were supporting her weight.

Relief came with the reassuring familiarity of Shaw’s hips, weighing heavy against Root’s own. Shaw’s thigh slipped between Root’s legs and Root pushed up into her.

Sameen broke the kiss, looking down at Root with that same look in her eyes that Root didn’t think she would ever get used to. The look that was so gentle and happy and affectionate, that Shaw probably didn’t know was there when she looked at Root. Shaw pulled her lower lip into her mouth.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Shaw said, softly, so softly that the words were barely more than an exhale. Root could feel the rush of electric happiness, her face hot with pleasure, her chest tight.

“I’m glad to _be_ back,” Root said playfully. Shaw smiled a little, and then looked over Root’s face before speaking again.

“I was worried about you,” she said. The words were somehow, impossibly, smaller than her last. Root ran her fingers through Shaw’s hair, pushing it out of her face.

“I’m sorry,” Root said. And she was. She _liked_ that Shaw worried about her, but she wished that Shaw didn’t _have_ to. She wished they could have more days like this- playing with the dog, eating good food together. Staying safe.

Shaw’s eyes were bright, shining in the dim light of the candle. Then she bent her head and kissed Root again, her soft lips on Root’s mouth.

When she trailed kisses down Root’s neck, Root pulled her up again, wanting to feel their mouths connecting once more. Satisfied, she ran her hand up under Shaw’s shirt, finger tips trailing across her back, and delighted in the shiver that ran down Shaw’s spine at the contact.

“You know,” Shaw growled between kisses, “I was being honest before, when I said you looked tired.”

Root smirked and shook her head.

“I can’t say I’m surprised. Sleeping on a couch and bunking with John isn’t quite like this,” she said playfully, kissing Shaw.

“Not gonna lie- I don’t love the thought of you bunking with Reese,” Shaw joked.

Root smiled and continued. “I also spent quite a while trapped in the trunk of a car. And bossing those guys around isn’t half as fun as bossing _you_ around. I’m due for a little R &R.”

Shaw smirked, kissing Root again and pulling the taller woman’s lower lip into her mouth, gently dragging her teeth over the sensitive skin.

“Well, I don’t know about _rest_ , but I’m happy to help with _relaxation_ ,” Shaw said. Root had never heard Shaw say something so seductively, and her breath caught in her throat at the arousing sound of Sameen’s words. Shaw knew exactly what she was doing, smirking and dipping her head to nip at Root’s neck.

A growl emitted from deep in Shaw’s throat when Root’s hand made its way back down her back, pulling their hips together. She shifted her feet and bumped one of the takeout boxes. Half of Shaw’s steak lay uneaten inside, forgotten.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this update is so late! Every time I think life can't get more busy there's something else that comes up. Rest assured, I will not abandon this story.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, commenting, and giving kudos! And thank you for trying to be patient!!

Root breathed heavily as Shaw kissed her throat again, their legs fitting together like two perfectly cut pieces of a puzzle. When Shaw exhaled into her ear, Root’s hips pushed up into the shorter woman of their own volition.

Sameen met Root’s mouth again, and Root ran her hands through Shaw’s hair to the back of her head, enjoying taking her time as they continued to kiss.

It felt good to be back. Like she was home. Root thought that she should have been alarmed that she felt that way, or at least _surprised_ , but she wasn’t really. She was just content. Everything about this was comfortable- Shaw’s soft lips on her own, the firm musculature and feminine curves warm against her. She couldn’t help but think that maybe they really _were_ good for each other, just like John had said.

When Shaw bit down on Root’s lower lip, her hand sliding up under Root’s shirt, the taller woman lost her train of thought and pushed up into Shaw. Sameen sat up and pulled her shirt off, then pulled at Root’s, forgetting for a moment that Root’s arm needed to be handled gently. Root winced.

“Sorry,” Shaw muttered, wrapping her warm fingers around Root’s forearm. Their eyes met and Root could see that they had both noticed simultaneously the kindness and honesty of the apology. Before Shaw could regret her emotions, Root finished pulling her shirt off as fast as she could and pulled Shaw back down against her, kissing her hard.

Root palmed Shaw’s breast, smirking against the shorter woman’s mouth when her hips ground desperately into Root’s.

It wasn’t long before Shaw was kicking her pants off and unbuttoning Root’s, scrambling to get them down off of her hips, then sitting back on her heels and looking down over Root’s body. Root felt a moment of self-consciousness, looking down her own ghostly pale body at Shaw’s perfect tan skin and toned physique. But when Root saw the look in Shaw’s eyes, that exceedingly pleased glint, she realized that it was probably the same look as in Root’s own eyes.

There was a hint of a smile on Shaw’s face when she leaned back over, kissing Root’s bare stomach, running her hands over Root’s thighs and then up her chest, making her way back up Root’s torso to capture her lips again, her tan thigh moving back between Root’s white legs. Root sighed into Shaw’s mouth at the contact, and Shaw smoothly reached beneath the taller woman to unhook her bra, her hands self-assured on Root’s body.

They moved together, finding their rhythm perfectly, only pausing when Root reached down to remove their underwear. She wanted those last layers of clothing keeping them apart to be gone. It had only been a day since she’d last seen Shaw, but Root couldn’t wait any longer. She needed full contact between them. When their bodies reconnected Root felt relieved and pleased that they could so quickly find their rhythm again, moving together desperately.

It was Shaw who eventually faltered first- her head falling to Root’s shoulder. And it was the little noises of pleasure from Shaw that sent Root over the edge as well, her nails digging into Shaw’s hip to keep her bucking hips where they needed to be.

Shaw kissed her breathlessly and collapsed on top of her, chest slick with sweat.

The subway station was silent except for their slowing breathing. There was a strangeness to the quiet that Root couldn’t place. She lifted her head tiredly, propping herself up a little with her good arm, her shot arm around Shaw’s back. There didn’t seem to be anything out of place. And it wasn’t so much that Root felt like something was _wrong_. It was more like there was something _missing_.

She waited to see if the Machine would fill her in.

No explanation came.

 Root’s stomach churned unpleasantly as she realized that the something that was missing was _Her_. The Machine wasn’t talking at all. This wasn’t all that unusual given the last few weeks of virtual radio silence, but in the last twenty four hours the tide had seemed to turn. Root had already forgotten the full-body ache that she had lived with while she was separated from the Machine. Root could only hope that the quiet now was because she was being given tonight to simply be with Shaw.

That didn’t seem likely.

She let her head rest on the blanket again, shutting her eyes against the feeling of impending doom that was creeping in through her pores.

Shaw lifted her head questioningly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her perfect mouth turning down at the corners. Root was surprised Sameen had picked up on her discomfort so quickly.

“Nothing,” she lied, smiling weakly. Shaw looked at her disapprovingly, trailing her middle finger along Root’s collar bone, following the ridge from the base of Root’s neck out to her shoulder. Root watched Shaw’s eyes follow her finger, then snap back up to meet Root’s gaze.

“Is it something I did?” Shaw asked. She sounded curious, trying to place what she might have done wrong. Root ran her hand down to the dip of Shaw’s waist.

“No,” Root reassured her. Shaw’s eyes narrowed a little but she didn’t ask anything further. Root knew it was stupid, but she wished that Shaw _had_ kept pressing her, although she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like it was going to help anything for Shaw to know that Root missed the Machine.

They lay in silence for a long time.

Root kept thinking about the fact that she was going to have to leave again tomorrow. She didn’t want to go again so soon, blindly hoping that she’d make it back in one piece. She had no way of knowing if the Machine would start talking again once Root and Evans were on the move. It wouldn’t have concerned her if she could be sure that she wouldn’t be alone.

Shaw lay her palm flat against Root’s breast.

“I can feel your heart. It’s practically beating out of your chest,” Shaw said. Root could tell Shaw was frustrated and reached up to brush her dark hair out of her face.

“I just wish I didn’t have to leave,” Root said quietly, smiling a tight, almost bitter smile. She wanted to do whatever it took to give the Machine the freedom She needed (and _deserved_ ) but that didn’t mean she had to want to leave Shaw. Shaw nodded her head.

“Yeah, me too. Have you heard anything about Finch?” She asked. Root shook her head.

“No, but if something had happened we would know,” Root told her. She did believe that was true, but that didn’t mean that Harold was completely safe, it just meant that he wasn’t in imminent danger. Root wondered where he was now. Shaw had tucked her bottom lip between her teeth again, looking at Root despondently.

“This whole ‘caring about people’ thing kind of sucks sometimes,” Shaw said after a long pause. It sounded like she was trying to make a joke, but nothing in her face read as playful. She blinked and looked away when Root gave her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Root said as reassuringly as she could.

“No you’re not,” Shaw grunted, rolling off of Root to lay beside her. She bumped a takeout box with her foot and pushed it away from herself. Root furrowed her eyebrows and turned onto her side to face Shaw again, who was folding her hands behind her head, laying on her back.

“No, I’m not,” Root said, annoyed. She put a hand on top of Shaw’s leg, letting her fingers drift to Shaw’s inner thigh. She forced a playful tone. “But we’re working on our optimism, remember?”

“Yeah, that sounds like us,” Shaw said sarcastically, her eyes on the pipes above their heads.

“She has a plan,” Root told her. “You have to trust Her.”

“I don’t know that I do,” Shaw said, her voice low. She let her head fall to the side then, looking at Root sorrowfully. She sighed. “But I trust _you_.”

Root’s heart fluttered.

“I’m a part of Her,” Root said, shaking her head. Shaw had it backwards and Root suddenly felt like she needed to make Shaw understand. “I’m fallible. But the Machine… she’s perfect.”

Shaw kissed her, and Root could tell that it was largely to make her stop talking.

“I don’t care,” Sameen said when she pulled away, “I trust _you_. That has to be enough.”

Root rolled onto her back again on the blanket. She hoped it would be enough, but she had a sinking feeling in her stomach that told her that it probably wouldn’t be.

Shaw got up silently and pulled her underwear and shirt on, cleaning up the leftover food. Root watched her for a minute and then slowly got up as well, starting to get dressed. Root picked up the blanket and folded it, clutching it against her stomach, waiting for Shaw to come back from the subway car where she’d taken the boxes. She didn’t reappear, so Root went and looked in the door.

She was settling into one of the chairs with the laptop. Root leaned against the metal doorframe and watched her for a minute but Shaw only glanced her direction once.

“What are you reading?” Root asked quietly, the blanket still held against her stomach. Shaw shook her head.

“Nothing,” she lied. Root waited another minute.

“I didn’t sleep well last night, so I think I’m going to go to bed,” Root said finally. She hoped that Shaw would take the hint and follow suit, but Shaw just nodded.

“Ok. I’ll try not to wake you up when I lay down,” Shaw said.

“You don’t have to do that. I _want_ to lay in bed with you,” Root said, feeling a little lost when Shaw only spared her a moment’s glance and a nod.

Root waited to see if Shaw would say anything else, and when she didn’t, Root turned and walked towards the beds feeling sorry for herself.

They were still pushed together the way that they had been when Root left.

Root expected to fall asleep immediately, but found that even with the subway station dark, the only light coming from inside the car itself, she didn’t feel comfortable and couldn’t drift off. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and lost track of time as she waited for sleep to overtake her.

It was a long time later when she heard movement. She hadn’t fallen asleep yet, and she’d lost track of how long she’d been laying there awake. After a few minutes, Root sensed the darkness deepening. When the cot shifted, Root opened her eyes to black. For a moment, she thought of the trunk of the car she’d been hidden in with Evans and Pranav, and she had to close her eyes and take a deep breath to remind herself that she wasn’t there anymore. She was home in the subway station.

The fear wouldn’t subside. Fear of the remembrance of the trunk- the uncertainty of whether she would get back to Shaw. And fear of Shaw herself. Of what Shaw was hiding on the computer, and how morose Shaw seemed to be getting.

She wanted to reach out to Shaw, grab her and hold onto her in the dark, but she didn’t think Shaw would appreciate the act, and Root was afraid it might push the shorter woman further into whatever darkness she was approaching. So she laid still, her eyes pressed shut, feeling the burn of tears behind her eyelids.

This wasn’t how her homecoming was supposed to go. She was supposed to shower Shaw with kisses, and be shown unending affection in return. Root felt stupid for having expected such a scene. That wasn’t her. And it _definitely_ wasn’t Shaw.

The bed moved again.

Root thought for a second that Shaw had left again, but then the sheet and blanket shifted, and Root felt warm air on her back. Shaw put an arm around Root’s waist from behind and scooted so that they were pressed together.

This was confusing but not unwelcome. Root wanted to say something and steeled herself for the reply.

“I don’t get you. One minute you’re kissing me and the next… it’s like you’re trying to punish me,” she said. She felt Shaw stiffen as soon as she started to speak. She felt Shaw’s lips press against her shoulder.

“It’s- I’m not…” Shaw paused. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Root took a shaky breath, frustrated.

“I’m good at a lot of things, but feelings aren’t one of them. I’m not going to just magically start knowing how to do this,” Shaw said quietly, kissing Root’s shoulder again. Root felt bad for having said anything, because she knew Shaw was right. She was wrong to expect Shaw to be anything other than Shaw. Not only wrong, but foolish.

Root moved to put her hand under her head. When her hand found its way under the pillow, her fingers brushed against something hard and cool. At first she thought it was the knife. But when her fingers felt along the edges of the little piece of metal she realized that it was the medal from the number that Shaw had kept.

Root wrapped her fingers around the reminder that Shaw was trying to figure out how to listen to the whispers of feelings as they came to her.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Shaw said quietly. Root shook her head.

“I was still awake,” Root said. She felt Shaw’s feet flexing.

“You should be sleeping,” Shaw told her.

“I guess I have a lot on my mind,” Root said, trying lamely to be playful. Shaw’s lifted her arm from around Root’s waist and stroked her head, fingers running across her scalp gently through her hair. Root immediately felt herself relax some.

“My dad would do this when I was little when I couldn’t sleep,” Shaw said. “Which was a lot. I used to have a lot of bad dreams. I don’t think he knew that’s why I was always waking him up in the middle of the night.”

Root felt soothed by the action, but also by the sound of Shaw’s voice. It was calm. Soft. And imagining Sameen as a little kid with her dad sitting on the edge of her bed made her heart warm.

Root could already feel sleep coming, like standing on the beach when the tide was changing. Waves lapping at her feet.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is short and also late! More to come soon, I promise!
> 
> Thanks again for commenting and giving kudos and continuing to come back and read more of this story!

Root wasn’t surprised that Shaw wasn’t in bed when she woke up. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but she could guess that it had been for many hours. She sat up in the dim light that was coming from the subway car and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold ground.

She heard the shower turn on and realized that she must have been woken up by Sameen closing the bathroom door.

Root stood up and ran her hands through her tangled hair, using the light from the subway car to make her way to the fusebox, flipping the switch for the rest of the station and squinting her eyes against the sudden bright light. As soon as the lights came on, Bear came trotting out of the car to greet her, circling her knees with his tongue hanging out of his mouth happily.

They walked back to the subway car together.

On one of the seats, the laptop was open and on. Root paused, looking at the screen from a distance. There was a document open on the screen, simple black text on a white page. Root couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the same screen that Shaw had hidden so quickly the first time that Root had walked in when she was using the laptop. Root listened to the shower running, then looked at the dog, sitting beside her, entirely unperturbed.

“This is our little secret,” Root told the dog. He stood up, his tail wagging, and she crouched beside the plastic chair, turning the laptop so that she could see the page better.

She looked at the clock on the computer. It was almost 10am. She couldn’t believe she’d slept so long. It had to have been at least ten hours, if not longer.

Then she looked at the document and started to read.

> “I go to school with Walter,” I began again. “He’s your boy, ain’t he? Ain’t he, sir?"
> 
> Mr. Cunningham was moved to a faint nod. He did know me, after all.
> 
> “He’s in my grade,” I said, “and he does right well. He’s a good boy,” I added, “a real nice boy. We brought him home for dinner one time. Maybe he told you about me, I beat him up one time but he was real nice about it. Tell him hey for me, won’t you?”
> 
> Atticus had said it was the polite thing to talk to people about what they were interested in, not about what you were interested in. Mr. Cunningham displayed no interest in his son, so I tackled his entailment once more in a last-ditch effort to make him feel at home.
> 
> “Entailments are bad,” I was advising him, when I slowly awoke to the fact that I was addressing the entire aggregation. The men were all looking at me, some had their mouths half-open. Atticus had stopped poking at Jem: they were standing together beside Dill. Their attention amounted to fascination. Atticus’s mouth, even, was half-open, an attitude he had once described as uncouth. Our eyes met and he shut it.

Root had figured out what she was reading before she looked at the name of the file.

It was _To Kill A Mockingbird_.

If the file was indeed what Shaw had been hiding, Sameen was reading the novel. And if the page that was open on the computer screen was any indication, Shaw appeared to be about halfway through the book.

Root recalled referencing the work days earlier, teasing Shaw about her relationship with Finch, like he was her father. Shaw had seemed irritated by the implication, and it had been clear that it wasn’t because she found it inaccurate- it was annoying to her because she didn’t understand it.

And now it appeared that she was reading the book.

The sudden wave of affection for Shaw took Root by surprise, and she pressed her lips together against a sad smile that wanted to form and bring with it the burn of tears.

She reacted so strongly because this spoke volumes about Shaw. She had not only listened to what Root had said, she was interested in the reference that had been made. Shaw liked learning and understanding things. She didn’t like to _admit_ that she was learning, but when she realized there was a hole in her mental database, she liked to find the information to fill that hole. 

She wondered if she should bring up the book again, or if she should wait for Shaw to mention it. She couldn’t be sure if this was, in fact, what Sameen had been trying to hide. And if it was, Root wanted to know why she thought she _should_ hide it. Root pressed a hand to her mouth, pressing against her lips as she tried to imagine a reason for Shaw to conceal the classic novel.

Perhaps it was simply that she was embarrassed. It could have been that she didn’t want Root to know that she cared enough about Root’s thoughts to read an almost three hundred page book to better understand them. Or that she didn’t want it to be obvious that it bothered her that Root knew something that Shaw didn’t. But what if this was a cover-up for whatever she was _really_ doing on the computer?

Root opened the browser history and before she had looked at any of the links, changed her mind and shut it again. She didn’t want to breach Shaw’s privacy more than she already had. As she started to stand up, she changed her mind again and started to crouch down again, touching the track pad. The dog picked up on her anxiety and whined once, stepping towards her with a curious look on his face. She clenched her hands together and stood up, backing away from the computer. If Shaw was really doing something stupid, the Machine would find a way to let Root know. Root had to take her own advice: she had to have trust.

On the table, her cellphone buzzed. She went and picked it up. It was John, confirming that Evans and Tasha were ready to move out of the city whenever Root was.

Root looked over at the bathroom door. The water was still running. She imagined Shaw, water pouring over her perfectly brown skin, and found herself walking towards the closed door.

She wanted to see Sameen.

There was a strange urgency to it, a need to see the woman who had _To Kill A Mockingbird _open on her computer. Like somehow she would be able to tell by looking at her if the book was really what she was hiding. And whether it was or wasn’t, Root knew she would have to leave at some point today, and wanted as much time with Shaw as she could get before she had to go.__

Root opened the bathroom door and a warm cloud of steam rolled out. Through the fog, she could see Sameen’s back: the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the curve of her ass. 

Root pulled her shirt off over her head. Shaw had her hands in her hair, and when the cold air from outside hit her she turned, alarmed, her hands falling into fists in front of her before she saw Root and dropped her hands entirely, her eyes closing with relief. Root shimmied out of her underwear and put them with her shirt on top of Shaw’s workout clothes as far from the shower as possible. Shaw must have been up for a while, Root realized. 

When Root looked back at Shaw, she found that Sameen’s eyes were on her, large and dark. There was a tiny hint of a smile on Shaw’s face as well, and Root smirked at her, stepping towards Shaw. 

“I’m almost done, then I’ll be out of your way,” Shaw said, and despite being completely naked, her hands hanging at her sides, the shower running on the back of her shoulders, Root could see that she still had her guard up. Root slipped her hands onto Shaw’s hips, looking down at her playfully. 

“I don’t want you out of my way,” Root teased, tilting her head down to kiss Sameen. Shaw ducked her head away. 

“You should still probably be careful with that arm. Besides, thought you had someplace you had to be,” Shaw said, looking up at Root from under her lowered eyebrows. Anger burned in Root’s stomach, bitter in her mouth, and she struck back, her voice still coy. 

“Looks like Atticus still has quite a bit to teach you about manners,” Root said, kissing Shaw’s jaw since she’d turned her face away before. Shaw immediately jerked her head away to look at Root. This put her directly under the stream of the shower and she had to move so she could see. 

Root knew that Shaw was wondering if Root had been on the laptop. 

“I forgot you haven’t read that book,” Root said casually, as if nothing had happened. Shaw still looked suspicious, but when Root moved to kiss her, Shaw met her lips. When their mouths separated for a moment, Shaw hesitated, her eyes still focusing on Root. 

“This is it, huh?” Sameen asked. Root ran her hands over Shaw’s wet hair, her eyes questioning. “You’re leaving after this, aren’t you?” 

Root chewed on her bottom lip, then nodded. 

“They’re ready whenever I am,” she said, smiling tightly. Shaw’s expression darkened into determination and anger. 

Root was about to ask what was wrong when Sameen crushed her lips against Root’s again with bruising force. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've known for weeks that _To Kill a Mockingbird_ was going to feature in my story, and the fact that I'm posting _this_ chapter today, when it's announced that Harper Lee's sequel is going to be published and released this summer, is pretty amusing! Coincidence? Am I psychic? Do I have the Machine guiding me? Who knows!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! You guys, this is the most read POI work on this website!! And it has the most kudos too! That's incredible. Thanks so much for continuing to come back for more.
> 
> If you're interested, [this](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3y9ZNBUChH7qaIzMpMIHs95BcBw679J8) is a playlist of the music I was listening to while writing this chapter.

Shaw pulled Root under the stream of the shower, her hands hard and tight on the taller woman’s biceps, keeping the wounded arm out of the way of the water. Root had to break the kiss to take a breath, ducking her head so that the hot water was pelting her shoulders. She leaned into Shaw so she had to take a step back, and Root smiled when Shaw jumped at the sudden contact with the cold tiles on the wall.

The old familiar uncertainty about the future bled into Root’s skin with each drop that beat against her back. And with that uncertainty, there was anger. She was angry that they couldn’t just stay together, safe and sound. And angry that the Machine couldn’t find a way to give Shaw a new cover. And angry that if they _were_ truly free to be together, safe, above ground, Root didn’t know if Shaw would still want to keep on doing what they were doing. Without the urgency and the necessity of trust, and without Shaw trapped like an alley cat forced indoors, Root doubted that the thing they had, whatever it was, would still work.

Root closed her teeth on Shaw’s lip, hard, a reminder of the split lip Root had given her days earlier. Shaw only grabbed onto Root’s biceps harder.

Root ran her hands over Shaw’s chest to pinch her nipples hard, her teeth still clamped tight on Shaw’s full bottom lip. Shaw inhaled sharply through her nose and let go of one of Root’s arms to dig her nails into Root’s ass, pulling her closer. Root released Shaw’s lip and Shaw wasted no time, bending her head to kiss Root’s neck, her tongue hot against the smooth skin, followed by the sharp pain of teeth closing on her flesh.

She trailed nips and kisses along Root’s throat, and Root’s head fell to the side with pleasure to give Shaw better access to the sensitive skin. Root’s hand found the back of Shaw’s neck, her fingers pressing into Shaw’s scalp hard, then fisted in her hair when Shaw’s hand on her ass slipped and shifted, pulling them closer again with desperation.

With her free hand, Root twisted Shaw’s nipple and was rewarded with a shiver and Shaw withdrawing her head. It knocked back against the wall and Root tugged on the hair still gripped in her fist to get Shaw to look at her, wanting to see that the contact with the tile hadn’t hurt the shorter woman. Shaw was completely unfazed, her eyes darkening as she licked her lower lip, tipping her chin up to kiss Root again. Root started to lean towards her but stopped just short of her open mouth, smirking and backing away again slightly when Shaw tried to close the distance between them and kiss her.

It was enjoyable to watch Shaw’s jaw clench, anger and desire combining in her dark eyes, pupils huge and black. Root pretended she was going to kiss her again and when Shaw realized Root was going to pull away again, she reached out to tangle her fingers in Root’s hair, her hand firm on the back of Root’s skull, and pulled them together again.

Root let Shaw have her way for a minute, then pushed her back against the wall firmly, ignoring the throbbing pain radiating outward from her elbow as she broke away from Shaw’s mouth and kissed across her jaw and down her throat, her hands sliding easily over Shaw’s torso and kneading her breasts as she bent to kiss Shaw’s shoulder. Shaw’s hand moved down from Root’s head to the back of her neck, but it tightened and her nails dug into Root’s shoulder when Root let one hand drift lower, down Shaw’s abdomen and then between Shaw’s legs. She could feel Shaw trying to separate her legs to give her better access and she pushed her body against Shaw’s to keep her from slipping on the wet tiles. Root lifted her head to smile at Shaw seductively, watching Shaw’s chest already breathing deeper than usual.

Shaw moved to kiss her and Root met the kiss briefly, then pushed Shaw into the corner of the bathroom across from the shower head and sank to her knees in front of the shorter woman, smirking up at Shaw as she put her hands on Shaw’s waist, kissing the dip beside her hip bone.

“You’re not wasting any time, are you?” Shaw growled jokingly, needy through her breathlessness. Root grinned and raised her eyebrows as she kissed the dark hair between Shaw’s legs and was rewarded with the sound of a shaky sigh. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Root directed Shaw to put one foot on the lid of the toilet, and was deliciously pleased when Shaw immediately complied, chewing on her bottom lip with the hint of a smirk that betrayed her arousal.

And Shaw was right- Root didn’t want to wait another second.

Root relished the first taste of Shaw’s body she’d had in days. They’d only slept together a handful of times, and already Root was familiar with the way that Shaw smelled and tasted. The way that she quivered when Root’s tongue swirled just so. Root was pleased that she was getting to know Shaw’s unconscious reactions. She enjoyed know that she could reliably make Shaw hiss an exhale by sucking the dark-haired woman’s clitoris into her mouth.

When she pressed one of her slender fingers inside of Shaw, Root thought for a moment that the shorter woman was going to slip and fall. One of her hands found Root’s shoulder to keep herself stable. Root kept close to Shaw, pinning her to the wall with her free hand as she moved inside of Shaw, her tongue keeping a steady rhythm.

Root added a second finger and curled them both as she thrust them deep. The hand that found Root’s head was already desperate, Shaw’s hips grinding against Root, nails harsh against the scalp of the woman kneeling between her legs.

It was almost impossible to take her time, but Root forced Shaw’s hips to still, slowing her rhythm down until Shaw grunted in frustration, her muscles tightening on Root’s fingers to try to force an orgasm that Root refused to let her have just yet. She wanted this moment to last. She wanted to remember the steamy shower, Shaw’s whole body slick with water, her wet hair, the taste of her skin, still so distinct despite the smell of shampoo.

Root closed her eyes as she licked Shaw’s body again. What if this was the last time they were together this way? This could be it. She could feel the searing pain of sadness at the thought of never being together again, and couldn’t stand thinking about it. She pushed the thoughts aside and thrust harder, faster, deeper, giving Shaw what she wanted.  
 Shaw tried to mumble something, and Root wasn’t sure if she stopped herself or was unable to continue. The hand on Root’s head clenched hard on her skull, Shaw’s pelvis jerked and ground hard into her, and Root could feel Sameen’s muscles spasm on her fingers. Shaw slid a few inches down the wall and Root tried to catch her. When Root finally looked up at her, Shaw’s eyes were screwed shut, just beginning to relax, her lip clamped hard between her straight white perfect teeth.

As soon as their eyes met, Shaw pushed Root away and sank to the floor in front of her, pushing her onto her back on the cold tiles so Root arched up suddenly. The air was sufficiently warmed by the shower, but since they weren’t directly under the stream of water, the floor was still icy cold. Shaw’s body was quick to move above Root’s, slinking up her body to kiss her, shoving her back down against the tile floor, then kissing her way back down to Root’s chest, biting each nipple in turn and sucking hard, hard enough that it was pleasurably painful. Enough that Root knew she would probably be sore the next day.

Shaw’s hand went between Root’s legs while her mouth was still kissing and nipping her chest. The demanding kisses and firm fingers rubbing circles against her already had Root aching for more contact with Shaw.

She didn’t need to say anything- Shaw was just as eager, kissing down Root’s stomach and then finally her tongue took the place of her fingers on Root’s clitoris and two fingers pushed easily inside of Root’s already wet body. Root writhed under Shaw’s skilled motions.

But after a few minutes, Root thought again of the possibility that she and Evans might not make it back. She’d never worried much about staying alive before, but now she felt like every errand could end in a dire situation that she might not be able to get out of. And all of this because of Shaw. Because of the fear that Root wouldn’t make it back to this perfect woman if things went pear-shaped. Pear-shaped. Even the use of that term to describe a mission that wasn’t going well was only in Root’s head because it was something Shaw liked to say.

Shaw’s mouth was gone suddenly, and then Shaw kissed her. Root could taste herself on Shaw’s tongue: sharp and bitter.

“What?” Shaw asked, leaning over Root to look directly into her eyes. Root thought about saying nothing was wrong but she knew Shaw would see through it.

“You _know_ what,” Root said, trying to swallow her sadness. Shaw’s eyes turned steely and she pushed her fingers back inside of Root, the heel of her hand pressing perfectly against Root’s clitoris. Root’s toes curled despite the slow burn of anxiety in her stomach. Shaw let her face hang close to Root’s.

“As soon as Finch gets back, I’m coming to help you,” Shaw said sternly. Root started to protest and Shaw kissed her to keep her from interrupting, withdrawing her fingers and pushing them back in, impossibly deep, pressing in just the right spot to make Root shudder under her. She broke the kiss and looked directly into Root’s eyes again. “I _will_ come and find you. And once I do, _no one_ is going to get _close_ to hurting you.”

Shaw’s look asked Root for confirmation that she understood. Root kissed her, knowing that there was no way that Finch would let Shaw leave but also knowing there was no reason to tell Shaw that. Shaw’s lips crushed Root’s for a moment.

The pace of Shaw’s fingers picked up and she broke the kiss to duck back down, her mouth finding its rhythm again between Root’s legs.

It wasn’t long before Root was trying to contain the high-pitched whimper as she orgasmed. She clutched at her own thigh to try not to grab Shaw’s head and force it hard against her, and Shaw’s hand grabbed onto the fingers digging harshly into her skin. It was as if Shaw had a sixth sense for knowing exactly what Root needed in these moments.

Shaw let Root lay limp on the bathroom floor for a minute, leaning over her and kissing her adoringly. Then Shaw urged her up.

“No telling how long the hot water is going to last,” Shaw said by way of explanation as Root sat up lethargically. Root realized she was right and started to get up. Shaw helped her to her feet and hugged Root to her chest, pulling her under the stream of hot water. Root felt sleepy and didn’t want to have to move, but when Shaw kissed her she smiled and let Shaw tip her head back to wet her hair.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! I am _so_ sorry that it's been a week and a half since the last update. Unfortunately, I don't even have an extra-long chapter to show for the long wait. Things have been busy and will continue to be, but I'll do my best to keep the updates regular (hopefully every third day, like before). Enjoy the update!
> 
> If you're into a soundtrack while you read, [this](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3y9ZNBUChH5jZ9L7-Hg7J0MRsvVwaXvh) is a playlist of songs I listened to while writing this.

Root hated that she was getting ready to leave again. She had the drug money packed up and had put on a fresh pair of clothes. Everything was ready. But instead of heading up the stairs to the New York streets above her head, Root kept finding menial tasks to complete so that she didn’t have to go just yet.

This was largely because they’d received a new number and Shaw was sending Reese information on the man. Luckily it would be simple enough to solve: an open and shut case of unpaid debts to a low-level gang member who wanted to make it known that he shouldn’t be fucked with.

Root looked over at Shaw, slouching in Finch’s desk chair, completely unfazed as she warned Reese that the men inside of the apartment he was about to enter were heavily armed. It struck Root as funny, almost, that this was normal to them. Three men with guns were nothing out of the ordinary, and Reese’s voice remained steady as he broke the door in.

Shaw’s fingers tapped against her knee impatiently, and Root leaned against the table, taking in Sameen’s profile. She looked angry, as always, but also lovely. Root stopped paying much attention to what John was doing as she let her eyes linger on Shaw’s perfect lips, even the slight frown pulling the corners of her mouth down lovely in their way. But she was no Finch.

The nuances of the computer and the Machine didn’t come as easily to Shaw as they did to Harold, and her propensity to head into almost any situation with her fists already swinging wasn’t particularly desirable when it came to negotiating sensitive situations. Root hoped that Harold would get back soon. Knowing that Shaw was going to be solely responsible for guiding their little missions was less than comforting. This was especially true since the fuse on Shaw’s temper could only get shorter the longer that she was cooped up in the subway station. Root was worried that someday, Shaw’s recklessness would catch up to them and they’d end up with more than a _potential_ victim.

Luckily, this was not that ever-possible ‘someday.’ The problems with this number were sorted out fairly quickly. Reese prevented the man from being killed, dragged him outside, and told him that he should leave town, start over somewhere new, and avoid getting involved with known gang members in the future. Their number, rattled and alarmed, scrambled away as fast as he could. John ended the call after stating that he needed to head to the police department to do his official job.

Then Shaw turned to Root. Root could tell from the look on Shaw’s face that she had been completely aware of her hovering and the hunt for busy work so that she didn’t have to leave before Shaw was done helping Reese.

“You need something?” Shaw asked, her tone indicating annoyance but the corner of her mouth twisting upward into a hint of a smile. Root crossed to Sameen, still slouching in Finch’s desk chair, and bent to kiss her. Shaw pulled away a little at the last second, preventing their mouths from touching as her perfect lips curved even more. Normally, this attempt at being playful would have amused Root, but at that moment, she could only think of the fact that she was saying goodbye again. Root sternly took Shaw’s chin in her hand and didn’t let her pull away. When they kissed, Shaw matched Root’s longing.

They separated. Root stood up and tucked her lip into her mouth, taking a deep breath through her nose as she stepped back. Anxiety sat heavy in her stomach. Sameen got up from the chair and stood very close to her, arms hanging limply at her sides, looking up at Root determinedly.

“I’m gonna see you soon,” Sameen commanded, reading Root’s nervousness. “Alright?”

Root tried to look lighthearted.

“Can’t wait,” she said, as flirtatiously as she could muster. Shaw shook her head and looked away with frustration, but Root knew that beneath Shaw’s tough front there was concern.

“Let me know once you’re out of the city,” Shaw said. “And keep me in the loop- I want to know where you are, what you’re dealing with.”

“Sam,” Root said playfully, turning away to go to the table and gather up her things, “You should be helping John and Lionel- you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Yeah, actually I do,” Shaw said, her words clipped. She was closer than Root had expected her to be. Root looked over her shoulder and found that Shaw was right behind her, looking up at her with wide dark eyes that shone with both anger and affection. Root had to avert her own gaze because Shaw’s watercolor emotions, bleeding seamlessly, were too appealing. Looking at Shaw like that made Root want to make Evans wait while she crushed Shaw against her, skin on skin.

Root swallowed to dispel the heat that was suddenly growing over her body.

She couldn’t stay any longer. Evans and Tasha were counting on her coming soon, and when John had gone to investigate the number he’d had to leave them alone in the safe house.

“The Machine had better keep you safe until I can get to you,” Shaw said threateningly, and Root teased her with a smile that reminded her that that wasn’t how it worked.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, and then we’re going to end this war,” Root could spew propaganda with flawless false certainty, but Shaw was unfazed and didn’t believe for a second that the coming battle would be so simple. Sameen turned and walked out of the subway car, heading to the bed. It seemed as though this was Shaw’s way of refusing to acknowledge the attempt to appease her. That Shaw would not stick around to say goodbye.

Root closed her eyes and took a deep breath, picking up the bag of money and hoisting it over her shoulder. But as she checked the safety on her gun and shoved it into the waistband of her pants, there was movement in her peripheral vision. She turned to see Shaw standing in the doorway of the subway car again.

Unsure what to make of this, Root double-checked to make sure she had everything and stepped towards Shaw, who didn’t move from where she stood blocking the way. When Shaw just looked up at her, Root raised her eyebrows questioningly. Shaw put out her hand. Between her thumb and fingers was the medal. And when Root looked from the hand to her face, she saw Shaw’s stiff expression. Like she was annoyed and at a loss. Root was so surprised at the offer, so tender despite the pursed lips and furrowed brow, that she didn’t react.

“Take it,” Shaw commanded, waving the medal between them, her eyes looking anywhere but at Root. Root extended an open palm and Sameen pressed the cool metal against her skin. Shaw had attached it to a chain like a soldier might use for a dog-tag, threaded through the red and yellow ribbon.

“I can’t, Sam,” Root started to protest.

“I _want_ you to,” Sameen said, her words short, her eyes on the medal, still avoiding looking at Root.

Root draped the metal necklace around her neck, struggling to get her hair out from beneath the chain. Finally, Shaw looked at her sternly.

“Don’t lose it,” she demanded. Root tucked it inside of her shirt and felt reassured by the chill of the gold.

“I’m surprised you’re so sentimental, sweetie,” Root said, deflecting the severity of Shaw’s words with a joking tone. Shaw didn’t reply. She looked away, annoyed. Abruptly, she put her arms around Root and the bags she was holding, pulling Root awkwardly to her chest, like she knew this was what she _should_ do but wasn’t sure _how_ she was supposed to do it. It took Root no time to wrap her arms around the shorter woman in return, inhaling deeply in the dark hair.

“If there’s any news about Harold…” Shaw murmured and didn’t finish her thought. Root pulled away and looked down at Sameen. Try as she might, Shaw couldn’t conceal her worry.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Root said quietly. She watched Shaw’s jaw twitch as her teeth clenched together, and tilted her head to kiss the tensed muscle. “If I hear something, I’ll let you know.”

Shaw’s lips pursed and she nodded, trying to seem brutally efficient but in reality coming across as awkward and stiff as she stepped out of the subway’s door, gesturing with her hand for Root to pass her. Root smiled sympathetically as she followed the motion of Shaw’s arm.

As Root made her way across the platform to the stairs, she wished there was something more to say to Sameen. She wanted to tell Shaw that she didn’t want to go- that she wanted to stay with all of her heart. But she didn’t say anything, she just slowly crossed the stretch of platform, one foot in front of the other.

Suddenly, Root found herself thinking of a moment that had happened months ago. Almost a year ago, she realized. Her mind had suddenly gone to the day when Samaritan had come online and it was all that Root could do to give the second AI a blind spot for them to hide behind. She was thinking of desperately tightening the bandage on her newest bullet hole in the back seat of a carjacked SUV that Sameen was navigating through the city streets. She had called Harold and John and explained to the three of them that they all had to become these new identities. And Shaw had sat in the driver’s seat, avoiding looking into the rearview mirror where they could have made eye contact.

When Sameen had stopped the car, she refused to look back at Root, emptying the contents of her manila envelope into her lap. The stack of cash, driver’s license, cell phone, and key ring tumbled onto her thighs. They had gotten out of the car silently and walked side by side up the block, accidentally bumping elbows twice, until Root stopped and watched Shaw’s retreating figure mournfully. It had felt like an eternity. She’d known that the moment was coming, but she hadn’t realized that she wouldn’t be prepared when it came.

Inside, she had been screaming at Shaw to wait, to say something, to at least look at her one more time. But Root had not spoken. Had not said any of those things out loud. She had stood on the sidewalk by herself with her hands in the pockets of her coat, and watched the distance between them grow.

It was always non-negotiable. When they were told they had to leave, to separate, to hide- it was always an order. Never a suggestion.

Root couldn’t oppose the Machine’s plans. And anyway, she’d thought there was no point in hoping that Shaw would do anything other than angrily dismiss any kindness or apology.

But then, all those months ago, Shaw had paused, turning back to look at the woman standing alone on the sidewalk. Root had expected Shaw to be angry at her for not saying something sooner about the fact that they were all going to have to go underground to stay alive. That they couldn’t stop Samaritan, they could only buy themselves time. But Shaw hadn’t looked mad. She’d looked resigned, tired, and sad. Maybe even a little scared. She gave Root a nod, blinking heavily.

It was Shaw’s way of saying that she understood. She understood that this was what had to happen next. And something about that last look made Root realize that maybe she wasn’t wrong to think that Shaw had considered her more than a crazy co-worker. Root’s insides had felt like they were crumbling to pieces.

But she still didn’t say anything.

She had watched Sameen turn back away, fiddling with her hat and pushing her fists into her pockets, continuing up the block without another glance. Then Root had turned slowly, her eyes burning as she felt herself disappearing into the sea of irrelevant numbers.

And here she was again, months later, leaving Shaw again.

Root reached the steps at the exit of the subway platform, feeling like she’d been moving in slow motion as she recalled that painful parting. She turned to look at Shaw, needing one last look at her in case it was the last time she _could_.

Sameen was still standing in the doorway of the subway car, looking at Root with worry and resignation. Root could see even from a distance that Shaw swallowed, and watched the shorter woman’s features harden.

“Be careful,” Sameen said, trying to appear stoic and failing. Root smiled a little, but her eyelids fluttered against her will as a lump formed in her throat.

“I will,” she said, her voice small and quiet in the large darkness of the subway station. Shaw looked away and started to turn back into the subway car. Root couldn’t watch her walk away, and closed her eyes as she turned as well, heading up the stairs and away from the safety of their hideout.

Root made her way to the car that she’d parked in a nearby deck the day before and warily loaded the bag of money into the trunk.

She slid into the driver’s seat and shut her eyes, hoping for a sign from the Machine that things were going to work out. But there was no voice in her ear.

Turning the key in the ignition, the satellite radio turned on of its own accord and in the static of the signal that seemed to be from the steel and concrete of the parking structure, Root heard the faintest traces of morse code. She waited to put the car in gear, a relieved smile reaching her eyes as she listened to Her message, giving traffic updates and the known locations of Samaritan-guided officers. She put the car in gear and made her way out of the parking garage, towards Evans and his girlfriend.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry about the wait! Thanks for coming back for more and always leaving me such kind comments.
> 
> I'm going to be at SXSW in Austin next week (and traveling after that) so I'll be posting another chapter this weekend or early next week, but then there's going to be another long gap. Anybody else going to SXSW? Maybe we'll pass like ships in the night.
> 
> Find me on all the social medias- I've got a brand-spanking-new twitter, tumblr, and instagram (theblondeq on all three), so hit me up. Let me know who I should be following, maybe see some random stuff from my adventures, and watch as I struggle with the writing process!
> 
> If you're like me and appreciate a soundtrack for every moment in life, [click here for this chapter's playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3y9ZNBUChH4nO8sxQCqoLfY6Kr76QjQ3).

When Root entered the safe house, she wasn’t surprised to find Evans and Tasha sitting solemnly at the dining table, hands clasped together on top of the expanse of wood between them. Tasha flinched when the door opened, and Evans looked terrified until he recognized Root’s familiar face.

“Where’s that other guy?” Evans asked. Root smiled, amused that John hadn’t told them his name at any point.

“He’s busy,” she said, placing the bag she was carrying on the table and opening the magnetic snap, pulling out a baseball cap and over-sized sunglasses and handing them to Evans and Tasha respectively. “Put these on, it’s time to go.”

“Time to-” Evans started, then sputtered with irritation, pushing the hat back into Root’s hands. “What do you mean, he’s _busy_? No offense, but _he’s_ the one who broke us out of that trunk, and _he’s_ the one who made sure that Tasha got to his cop friend without getting shot. So I’m not going anywhere without him.”

Root looked at him with disdain.

“ _That guy_ was only there to save your girlfriend because I brought him with me and told him to take care of her. And that was only so I could keep _you_ from getting shot. We were in that trunk because it was the only way to escape from your bloodthirsty employers,” Root told him. She dropped the hat onto the table in front of him. “ _This_ is the plan. You need to leave the city today, and your hero won’t be coming. He’s busy. We’re _very_ good at what we do, but even _we_ can’t be in two places at once.”

She watched Evans’ throat bob as he swallowed. He was nervous, and she understood that, but they needed to get moving. She was annoyed because she knew it was partially her fault that they were rushing. The time she’d spent waiting around while John and Sameen took care of their latest number had delayed their plans some, and she knew that once they got Tasha to the new safe house they wouldn’t be able to just dart back out the door: they would have to make sure she was settled and safe, and Evans would want to say goodbye. Relationships made things complicated. Root knew she had to factor that into their escape plan.

It was clear that Tasha and Evans weren’t quite on board with leaving, but Root knew that John must have told them that this was how it was going to be. And that meant that they _would_ be coming with her. Unfortunately for them, she was insulted that Evans had so little faith in her, and that left her in a less than charitable mood. She wasn’t going to coddle them and reassure them that it would be alright. Plus, for all Root knew, they wouldn’t make it twenty four hours.

Once Evans had hesitantly pulled on the baseball cap, Root gave them a tight smile and turned to the kitchen, pulling some food from the cupboards. There was no telling when the storm of Samaritan might hit and leave them unable to get more food. She had some non-perishables in the car already, but she figured they might as well leave themselves and Tasha stocked for the worst.

Then she showed them out of the apartment and to the car.

Root sat in the driver’s seat, directing the other two to get into the back together. She wanted them to have as much cover as possible. The radio squawked and buzzed when Root turned the key in the ignition. She listened carefully, hoping for the soft morse code of the Machine as she headed down the winding ramp of the parking garage.

“You wanna turn that thing off?” Evans asked of the buzzing radio, his voice tight and anxious. Root looked in the rearview mirror and saw that he had Tasha hugged against his chest, attempting to comfort her. The woman’s shoulders shook and heaved, and Root realized that she was crying.

“I need it on,” Root said, almost apologetic. She heard a muffled sob and felt torn between guilt and annoyance. She didn’t want to miss it if the Machine said something. “And I need _you_ quiet.”

Evans’ laser-focused glare was almost palpable: Root knew it was on her before she’d glanced in the rearview again and saw his furrowed brow.

There was no sign of a message from the Machine yet, and they were nearing the exit of the parking garage. Root knew this could mean that Samaritan had operatives listening in and realized that they might not even make it out of the starting gate. Or it could mean that there was nothing to worry about. Root doubted that the latter was the case.

Finally, after a few seconds sitting in the exit of the parking garage that felt like centuries, Root heard the message, the beats and pauses spelling out a single word. _Go_. Without pausing, Root turned out of the driveway and into the maze of New York traffic.

Driving through the city streets, Root remained tense, listening to the occasional morse code of the Machine through the static. Hints like “N2W3” to guide her block by block, avoiding whatever untold peril was waiting for them. From the back seat, she could hear Tasha and Evans whispering to one another occasionally.

Finally, they were out of New York and following I-78 beyond Newark, out of the ever-present danger of Samaritan that lurked in every corner of Manhattan. Root left the radio on, but there was nothing from the Machine. Root could only hope that she would hear some clue eventually as to where she should leave Tasha, and for a long time she simply kept driving on the interstate.

About two full hours passed before the static revealed anything more to her from the Machine. The car had been silent other than the dull fuzz from the radio. Evans and Tasha had barely spoken to one another, and Root had stopped looking back at them in the rearview mirror because it made her feel sick to see them so close to one another. They were too kind to one another. Too normal in the way that he put his arm around her shoulders and brushed her hair out of her face, her head fitting perfectly on his shoulder because even their height difference was just right. And if things were different, they would continue being normal and happy and in love. It made Root angry when she realized that she was actually a bit _jealous_ of them.

Exiting the interstate, Root followed the Machine’s limited instructions through Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to a neighborhood with winding streets and houses set back from the sidewalk, trees in many of the front yards partially obscuring the windows from the road. It was a perfect neighborhood for Tasha to hide. When she turned onto a road and saw the sign in front of one house, the large ‘SOLD’ placard covering the real estate agent’s name, Root didn’t really need the Machine’s help to know that she was to turn into the driveway, following the curving pavement behind the house.

There was a key under the mat at the door, and Root let them in quickly, keeping an eye out for any sign that they’d been followed or that someone was suspicious. After checking the first floor rooms and finding nothing suspicious, Root went upstairs, leaving Tasha and Evans in the kitchen, tensely crouching behind the island until she came back downstairs. Most of the house was empty, but the Machine had somehow ensured that there was some limited furniture left behind by the previous owners. As always, Root was impressed by the Machine’s abilities and foresight. She made her way back downstairs certain that this house and neighborhood were secure.

“Welcome to your new home,” Root said lightheartedly, tucking the handgun into the waistband at the back of her pants. Evans stood up first, then helped Tasha to her feet. Root found herself unable to watch them again, and looked away.

“It’s safe. You’ll stay here, inside, unless you don’t hear from us. Each time we call, we’ll give you the time that you’ll hear from us next. If that next call doesn’t come, you’re going to go to the post office a half mile from here,” Root paused momentarily and opened a drawer, withdrawing a manila envelope and a single key from exactly where the Machine had hinted it would be resting, “And you’re going to use this to access box 815. Inside, there will be a number. You’ll call that number from your burner phone and follow all further instructions that you’re given.”

“What burner phone?” Tasha asked, her voice quivering. Root opened the envelope in her hands and turned it on its end. Inside, there were keys to the house, an ID with Tasha’s face and a fake name, and a cellphone. The couple looked surprised and Root smiled at them a little condescendingly.

“I’ll let you have some time to say goodbye, but then we have to go,” Root said, turning and heading into the living room, which was sparsely furnished and decorated. Over her shoulder, she reminded them, “Stay away from the windows.”

She couldn’t watch them. It made her sick to her stomach to know that Evans and she might not make it back. Plus, it was only fair to let them have a little time to themselves before the real trouble started.

Root took her phone out of her pocket and sat down on the sofa, running her finger along the piping on the edge of the cushion as she listened to the faint hum of voices coming from the kitchen. She wrote Shaw a text, short and to the point because she didn’t know if it was safe to call, and she found herself unable to think of what to say. All that she said was that they were out of the city and had a safe place to leave the number’s girlfriend. She couldn’t risk using Tasha’s name or saying exactly where they were. Sameen would be angry about the vague text, but Root knew she would understand why she couldn’t say more.

She sent the message and put her phone down beside her, pulling the Order of Lenin medal out from inside her shirt and wrapping her fingers around the disc. The phone vibrated, and Root was surprised to see that Shaw’s response wasn’t particularly annoyed. It was simply an acknowledgement that the message had been received and understood. Root’s fingers tightened around the medal as the phone’s screen went dark.

The living room was quiet while she waited for Evans and Tasha to finish saying their goodbyes.

Eventually, Root had to go and end their conversation.

“It’s time,” she said, checking her gun restlessly as she reentered the kitchen. Tasha’s wide eyes were fixed on the weapon in Root’s hands.

“Michael, she’s going to get you killed,” Tasha said, looking up into Evans’ face, pleading with him. “Stay here, with me.”

“He’s not staying here. He _has_ to come,” Root interrupted, her temper short.

“Why? He doesn’t know how to shoot a gun, he’s not a spy or whatever it is that you are-” Tasha said, upset.

“This is not a negotiation,” Root said. She wished that she could let Evans stay here. It would be easier to protect him if they weren’t running all over the country. And Tasha was right, he wasn’t exactly a warrior. He was dead weight that Root would have to be looking out for constantly. But Root didn’t make the rules. The Machine had told her to take Evans with her. And that meant that this was how they would do it. She turned to Evans. “Sorry Mikey. You’re coming with me.”

She watched Evans’ throat bob and he nodded. Root looked back to Tasha, who was frantically upset.

“Remember your instructions. We’ll call you tomorrow morning. 7am. If you don’t hear from us by a quarter past, leave. Immediately,” Root commanded. Tasha pressed a hand to her mouth and Evans wrapped her in his arms. Root immediately looked away from them. The earnest actions, the whispers between them, were too much.

She and Evans returned to the car, and he sat beside her in the front. He kept looking back towards the house even once it was no longer visible. Even when they were out on the interstate and Harrisburg was long behind them, Root continued to catch Evans’ eyes locked on the car’s mirrors, as if he was still able to see Tasha. Root was too busy driving and listening for messages in the static, like a never-ending ocean wave, to think much about what was behind them.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter! I know it's another short-ish one, and for that I'm sorry! I'm probably not going to have much time to write while I'm away for a week and a half, but if I do have time, you can bet I'll be working on this!
> 
> If you're going to South by Southwest (or if you're not), follow me on twitter, tumblr, or instagram (theblondeq on all three) so I can check out all the stuff you're doing. :)
> 
> And if you'd like some music to listen to while you read, check out [this playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3y9ZNBUChH6VtliHpCanH6Vs1Gc7epfP).

There was no instruction from the Machine, and the only conversation between Root and Evans was about where the closest servers were located. Root got off the highway two and a half hours later, East of the Allegheny River, between Ford City and Kittanning, Pennsylvania. Once she’d exited, the Machine gave an address and when Root pulled off the road, she found that it belonged to a very cheap, not particularly nice looking motel.

She parked the car and went inside the lobby (if it could be called a lobby) with Evans in tow. As she pulled the door open, the Machine gave her a fake name in her ear.

“How can I help you?” The heavyset woman behind the counter had looked up from her computer screen when they entered and stood up, primping her greying helmet of hair as she eyed them both. Root could tell that Evans’ nervousness was putting the receptionist on edge. She leaned against the chest-high countertop, crossing her arms on the wooden slab and smiling as disarmingly as possible.

“I believe we have a reservation,” Root said, turning on her imitation of midwestern charm.

“Alright, what’s the name?” The woman asked, shuffling back towards the computer. Root turned and gave Evans a look that told him he needed to stop fidgeting.

“Albridge. First name Lisa,” Root replied without hesitation. The woman checked in the system, tilting her head back to read through her bifocals. The growing agitation from Evans was palpable. Root glanced at him again sternly, and then the woman spoke again.

“Here you are: Room 23. And I believe we have a letter for you,” the woman behind the counter told Root as she turned to a cabinet behind her and rifled through some envelopes and small packages. Root was immediately curious as to what the Machine could have sent. And if She did in fact know where Samaritan’s servers were, Root wondered why She hadn’t said something. It baffled Root that She thought that Evans would be helpful for something. But Root also knew better than to doubt the Machine.

The woman returned from the cabinet and handed Root an envelope. On the outside, Root could see the letterhead but couldn’t make out what it said. The woman looked at it as well.

“Thank you,” Root said, receiving the thick letter with a smile.

“You know, I am just _so_ happy that the plant has moved here,” the woman said as if Root and Evans should know what she was talking about. Root glanced down at the letter in her hand again and realized that the name of the company on the envelope was _LithiBatt Industries_. “You know, they’ve just brought so many jobs here building it so close to Kittaning. My nephew works there. Are you here to work?”

“Something like that,” Root said, coy as ever. She wasn’t sure what LithiBatt Industries had to do with Samaritan, but she could guess.

“If you go down there you should look for my nephew! His name’s Peter. Peter Kelly,” The woman said.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” Root said, then looked at the woman’s name tag. “Violet.”

“Well thank you, Miss Albridge. You tell him his aunt misses him since he works all those long hours,” Violet joked and gave Root a kind smile and the room key. Root smiled back but inside, she felt anxious. She walked back out to the car wondering if Peter Kelly would end up being killed in the mass destruction that would eventually come to Kittaning.

“What’s the letter about?” Evans asked glumly as he trailed after her through the darkening parking lot.

“I don’t know yet,” Root said, tearing open the flap. She glanced over her shoulder at Evans as she popped the trunk of the car with the key. “But if I had to guess? I’d say that LithiBatt is a front for your employers.”

She watched his eyebrows raise in surprise and alarm and hauled one of the bags from the trunk onto her shoulder, wincing when her elbow flared up in pain. Evans noticed her flinch and stepped forward, taking some of the bags himself. When he lifted the bag with Root’s arsenal inside, he grunted.

“What do you _have_ in here?” he asked, picking up a second bag. She smiled at him as if he was just adorable. “Do I wanna know?”

“Maybe not,” she said as she too picked up a second bag and shut the trunk. She off-handedly continued. “In case you _do_ want to know? It’s guns.”

She turned and started towards room twenty three, pulling the papers from inside the envelope her arms maneuvering around the two bags slung over her shoulders. Evans followed after a moment, appearing in her peripheral vision.

“I thought you said we weren’t going to go in all… all guns blazing. Isn’t this just supposed to be recon?” he asked with concern. Root nodded but didn’t look up from the papers in her hands, which she had started to unfold and was trying to read in the dark. There weren’t enough lights in the parking lot for her to make out what the letters said, so she folded them again.

“Absolutely. It’s _supposed_ to be recon,” Root said, reaching the door and unlocking it. “But things don’t always go as planned.”

She half-expected someone to be waiting for them in the dark. She wouldn’t put it past Samaritan to beat them to the motel despite the fact that Root herself hadn’t known about it until five minutes earlier. But when she flicked on the lights, the only surprise was that there was only one bed. Not a small bed (a queen, by the looks of it) but a single bed nonetheless.

“I’ll take the side by the wall,” Evans said, unfazed. He dropped the bags he was carrying. Root started to go through one of them to find some of the clothes that the Machine had gotten for him. When she looked up, a t-shirt and shorts in hand, he was already laying down on one edge of the bed, still dressed. He had faced the opposite wall, and Root knew that his ragged inhales and exhales were attempts to mask the fact that he was crying.

She thought it better to pretend he wasn’t, and left him there without reading the papers inside of the envelope from the receptionist, retreating into the bathroom to give him privacy. She decided to take a shower to keep from having to be in the same room with him.

Standing in front of the sink, looking at herself in the mirror, Root pulled her shirt off over her head and paused, her eyes on the medal hanging around her neck. She touched it, brushing her fingertips over the raised image of Lenin, then took the chain off over her head and rested it on the counter.

She stood under the hot water for much longer than necessary, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes as she turned her face directly under the flow. The last shower she’d taken had been with Shaw, and even though it had only been earlier the same day, Root felt like it had been ages ago.

She spread soap over her body and tilted her head under the hot water, thinking of Shaw sitting alone in the subway station. Fusco or John would stop by, Root was sure, and Shaw would be torn between being annoyed with them and happy to have the company.

When she finally exited the bathroom, the medal back around her neck under her shirt, her hair damp and her skin warm from the water, she found that Evans had fallen asleep. Root could tell from his breathing, which was now even and deep. She wasn’t tired herself, feeling quite ready to find the first building and do whatever it was that needed to be done. Not knowing what exactly they were going to be _doing_ was both nerve-wracking and exciting, and Root hoped that the Machine would be able to give them the guidance that they needed.

Root turned on the lamp on the desk and flicked off the overhead light in the motel room, then sank down into the chair by the window and looked out from the dark room across the motel parking lot, lit by the yellow glow of the occasional streetlamp. The lot was mostly empty- only a few cars aside from theirs. From where she sat, Root could see the security camera above the door where the front desk sat unattended. It was a small comfort to know that the Machine was there, keeping an eye on her despite not being able to communicate.

Under her shirt, the medal from Shaw rested heavy against her breast bone. Root focused on the feeling, thinking once again of Shaw. She could picture her so clearly, tossing the cards one by on into the box on the floor, doing pushups over and over. And Root could imagine those dark eyes turning towards her, that endearing annoyance at whatever innuendo Root had casually thrown her direction.

None of it was enough to stop the rising tide of sadness in Root. The nighttime quiet was deafening. Even the buzz and hiss of the radio was preferable to this silence. Root took a long draw of air and exhaled through her nose, trying to steady herself against the loneliness, then picked up the papers from the envelope she had received and unfolded them.

By the dim light of the desk lamp behind her, Root read the letter. It was congratulatory, confirming her apparent employment at LithiBatt with instructions to stop at Human Resources to have an ID card made on her ‘first day’. Which was the following morning, Root recognized.

Root looked out across the parking lot at the camera above the lobby door, impressed as always with the resourcefulness of the Machine, and could almost feel Her smiling back. Root knew, of course, that the Machine didn’t smile, but this made it clear that there was a distinct plan, and all Root had to do was figure out what that plan was and follow it.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have an update ready to post! Sorry about the long waits, guys. Also I hope you guys aren't disappointed by the woeful lack of certain stuff in these chapters. (No spoilers!)
> 
> Unfortunately, Chapter Thirty Five won't be posted in the next few days- I've got a big project that needs to be completed and post-marked by May 1st, and I have quite a bit of work to do on that. I'm very excited about it, and it's fun work, but it's still stressful to have deadlines approaching! I've already got a portion of the next chapter written (and chunks of the story beyond that, some of which I'm really hoping you guys like and that it doesn't seem too out of left field) but they're definitely not complete yet. Stick with me, I promise I'll make it up to you!
> 
> If you're interested in checking out the music I listened to while working on this, [here are a few songs](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3y9ZNBUChH5UZiRklHG8Bc93ZWgkqhC-)!
> 
> Also, I've been enjoying following some of you guys on other websites! Hit me up:  
> theblondeq.tumblr.com  
> instagram.com/theblondeq  
> twitter.com/theblondeq

The following morning, Root lurched awake to the sound of the motel room phone ringing. It was still barely light outside, and that was both alarming and exciting to Root as she opened her eyes and turned her head. The phone on the bedside table was silhouetted by the dull glow of early morning light through the dark curtains.

She lifted it to her ear, cradling the plastic in her palm without making a sound. Without even sitting up.

“Golf. Oscar,” The words made Root feel nearly euphoric. After a pause, they repeated- the two words from different voices but both _Hers_. That was all that mattered. It was time, and She was going to be there, watching over Root and Evans. That was all that Root could have hoped for.

Root almost spoke back, but when she realized that the words that she wanted to say were ‘I missed you,’ she kept her lips pressed together in a smile instead. She let the phone rest in its cradle again.

“Who was that?” Evans’ voice, thick with sleep, came from behind Root’s back. She didn’t bother looking at him, or even answering his question, as she pulled the covers back and sat up on the edge of the bed, her bare feet brushing the rough, ugly carpet that stretched from one side of the worn motel room to the other. With no hesitation, she lifted the medal from the bedside table where it had spent the night beside the phone.

“It’s time for us to head to work,” she told him, still facing away, relying on the smile in her words to get him up as she pulled her hair out from beneath the chain. With a surprising rush of relief, the Order of Lenin medal came to rest around her neck where it belonged.

“What does that mean?” Evans asked, still groggy. Root got out of bed without replying, heading to the bathroom with one of the duffle bags to change into her outfit of the day, courtesy of the Machine.

Evans was still looking tired and nervous when they had driven to the headquarters of LithiBatt Industries.

The building that they pulled up to was huge and grey, with even more grey in front, where the parking lot stretched across the flat land. There had been a dusting of snow overnight, and now even the surrounding landscape was pale and colorless. Silent. Root couldn’t help but feel a nagging worry as they got out of the car, but she tried her best to think only of the excitement of doing something productive. Something meaningful.

“I don’t like this,” Evans muttered, breathing into his hands and hunching his shoulders as Root locked the car and turned towards the building, pulling her beanie down further against the cold. He’d tried to convince her that he didn’t need to come- that she could get a lay of the land for herself, but it didn’t make sense that the Machine would ask Root to bring him along on her little road trip if he could stay behind in the motel room. Plus, she knew he would just mope around and be tempted to contact Tasha if he was left by himself. She didn’t want him jeopardizing the plan, so here they were.

“Come on, Evans,” she instructed, strutting across the parking lot. The closer to the building she got, the more Root felt excitement boiling inside of her. In her pocket, her gloved hand cradled the reassuring weight of a pistol. Her second handgun, a USP Compact that she knew would make Shaw’s eyes light up, was tucked into the back of her pants. The thought that soon she might be wielding two guns at Decima agents, and of how Sameen would react to that sort of performance, brought a little smile to Root’s face.

“Can you at least call me Mike, like everybody else?” Evans asked. She gave him a look of amusement over her shoulder and he shrugged. “You make me feel like I’m back in junior high when you call me by last name. Like I’m in gym class or something, I don’t know. Doesn’t exactly bring back _fond_ memories- I’m an engineer, remember?”

Root gave him a teasing pout.

“Poor Mikey. Were you picked last?” she asked, and he squirmed in embarrassment.

“I said _Mike_. Call me _Mike_ ,” he grumbled. She ignored him, because they’d reached the doors to the building- the glass emblazoned with the words ‘LithiBatt Industries’.

Inside, Root breezed past the front desk without the secretary batting an eye at the letter indicating that she was to report to Human Resources. They didn’t even seem all that curious about why she had Evans in tow on her first day at work. They just seemed like it was a Monday morning and they were in need of their first cup of coffee. Root doubted any of these people even realized that they were working for Decima or Samaritan at all, and surprised herself when she hoped that they would all be out of harm’s way when the time came.

The man who took Root’s photo for her ID paused after every few keystrokes at his computer to take over-sized bites from his breakfast- three glazed donuts. When he bent his head to lick his fingers, Root could see that his forehead extended all the way to the crown of his skull, his combover only making him look older.

She wondered what his story was. He had a wedding ring, and two picture frames that were facing away from her. Part of Root ached to see the photos inside of them. Did he have kids? With the amount of sugar and carbs he was currently consuming, Root knew that he was shortening his life expectancy a little more each day. In a past life, Root would have seen that as justification: _he_ wasn’t worried about himself, so why should _she_ worry about him? But now…

“Here’s your new ID card,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. He swiped his sticky fingers on a napkin that could never soak up the grease from his breakfast of champions, then held out the laminated plastic for her to take.

“This is the best one I’ve taken in a long time! You’re lucky. Most of us look like we just got arrested,” he joked. His smile was friendly, and Root accepted the ID and clipped it onto the coat that she’d been given, trying to ignore the fact that his hands were covered in sugar.

“Where do I report to next?” Root asked, half to the man at the desk and half-hoping the Machine would answer her. The man with the combover’s brow creased a little.

“ _You_ can head on to Operations, but your friend here… uh… why is your friend here?” he asked, obviously unsure how to broach the topic of Mike hanging around behind her like a kid forced to meet his parents’ friends. Root smiled at the man behind the desk.

“He’s shadowing me. The company has expressed interest in,” she paused as she tried to think of the best way to phrase what she wanted to say next. It was entirely for her own pleasure when she chose the words, “The great wealth of knowledge he possesses.”

She smirked to herself. It wasn’t untrue: Decima _was_ after Evans because of the things he knew. The man who had given her the badge looked skeptical.

“He’s going to need some authorization, Operations is pretty strict about who goes in and out. Don’t want any competitors robbing us of our designs,” he explained apologetically. Root was about to dig herself into a deeper lie when they were interrupted by a young man with dark hair and a necktie with just enough personality that Root could tell he hadn’t been entirely crushed by the monotony of office work yet.

“Are you the new recruit?” he asked, grinning broadly as he extended his hand. Root shook it with a smile and a brief nod. “I’m Peter Kelly, it’s great to meet you. Got an email over the weekend, I’m all up to date on the situation. Glad to see you’ve got your ID already, we can get going whenever you’re ready.”

He had barely stopped walking, giving the man behind the desk a friendly nod and then gesturing for Root and Evans to go ahead of him down the hall. Evans managed to catch Root’s eye, and she could tell that they’d both caught the fact that this was the woman from the motel’s nephew.

“And you must be Harris?” he asked Evans with a level of enthusiasm that the man behind the desk seemed exhausted by. “Whatever it is you’re selling, LithiBatt is _buying_ , my friend.”

Root followed Peter Kelly’s guidance away from Human Resources and through the maze of hallways, wondering how long he would be safe kept in the dark about his situation, believing that it was his bosses that had emailed him about the two strangers that had turned up at LithiBatt on this snowy Monday morning. The Machine wouldn’t put him in danger unless it was absolutely necessary, Root knew, but it still made her feel guilty that this man probably had no idea what he was in for.

“I think we met your aunt at the motel where we’re staying. Violet?” Root asked as they walked.

“Oh yeah? How funny,” he replied, distracted. They turned into a smaller passageway. This one was silent. Empty. At some point Peter Kelly had taken them across the line from office space to whatever this part of the building was, and Root had a sudden moment of clarity when he glanced over his shoulder, past them, with his mouth pressed in a thin line.

Peter Kelly knew more than she had thought.

Inside her coat, Root’s hand closed on the concealed handgun, positioning herself between Mike and Peter when the young man in the necktie stopped and turned to look at them.

“Are you her?” Peter asked quietly, his chin tilted down. Root’s mouth twitched into a smirk, eyebrows raising the smallest amount.

“Probably,” she said, aloof and coy. Her nose crinkled sarcastically. “But why don’t you be a little more specific.”

Peter licked at his lips anxiously and Root could sense that Evans was getting ready to sprint away. She turned her head slowly to make eye contact with Evans. His eyes were wide with panic. She shook her head.

“I think we should probably take this conversation somewhere a little more private,” Root said, turning back to look at Peter. She pulled the gun out of her pocket, not yet pointing it at Peter but allowing him to see that she was armed.

“Believe me, this is as private as we’re going to get. We need to move, and keep our voices down. They use our computers to watch over us, all day every day, so if we go to my office, that’s it. We’re done,” Kelly said, his forehead pulling with determination. Root’s eyes narrowed in return. She couldn’t tell if this was an act or if Kelly was on their side. The Machine wasn’t talking. Kelly gave her an impatient shrug as if to ask “Are we going to do this or what?” and then turned to walk down the hall.

Root followed him briskly, still ready with her gun as they continued down the narrow hall.

“So, you’re her, right?” Kelly asked. Root gave him a sly smile when he glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’ve been getting these messages- I competed in this secret competition. It had all this math and science stuff, and I guess I made it far enough that I started getting texts from this encrypted number. They won’t tell me who’s sending them, but I was supposed to make sure that you got through security. Assuming you _are_ her…”

He had paused again and was looking at Root expectantly. She wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say back.

“Aren’t you gonna _say_ something?” Evans asked nervously.

“If there’s a codeword, She didn’t give it to me,” Root told Kelly. She honestly didn’t know what she was meant to do next. She could tell that Peter was getting increasingly exasperated and watched his head turn to the right and then crane back to the left, constantly checking to make sure no one was watching them. His eyes paused on her own.

“You’re Root, right?” He asked. Root wasn’t fast enough to contain her surprise.

“That’s what they told me to call you,” Peter continued. Root pressed her lips together and gave him a small, firm nod. Peter nodded back, looked beyond Root and Evans and then turned, continuing down the corridor.

“The servers they’ve got, and the labs they’ve built… it’s impressive stuff, and it’s definitely for more than they need to make some lithium ion batteries, I can tell you that much. I thought you were supposed to tell me the next part of the plan. You know, where and when I’m supposed to uh…” he turned and, with his hands, made a little mock explosion with his fingers paired with a small burst of air from his mouth. He was quite the contrast to Evans, who was taking every threat as if it were going to be the end of him. Something worth crying about. Peter Kelly seemed self-assured in the face of the danger, and Root felt comforted by this.

“I don’t know yet,” Root told him. Kelly glanced over at Mike.

“What’s _his_ job?” Peter asked, gesturing with his chin. “They just told me he was important. Whatever that means.”

Mike looked offended and concerned simultaneously, and was about to offer a retort that promised to sound weak and thin when a phone started to ring. Peter stopped and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. Before he’d swiped to answer the call, Root saw that the number was blocked. He held the phone up to his ear for a moment, curious and confused, and then held it out to Root.

“I think it’s for you,” he said, wary as he watched her accept the phone. She lifted the cellphone to her good ear, and the Machine started speaking. Kelly must have seen the smile that grew on her face, because his eyebrows raised expectantly while she listened to the voices on the other end of the line. 

When Root hung the phone up, she turned to Evans, much to the surprise of both men.

“You’re going to show him how and where to plant the explosives,” she told Mike, relishing in the electric pleasure of finally regaining some scrap of control over the situation.

“I don’t know anything about _explosives_ ,” Mike hissed at her, and she gave him her most condescending look.

“But _I_ do, Mikey,” Root told him. “ _You_ know where the secondary server room is.”

The recognition was evident on Mike’s face and he nodded. Peter gestured for him to lead the way.

“ _Secondary_ servers? Don’t we want to blow up the important stuff?” Peter asked Root as Mike paused at the end of the hall, trying to call upon a memory of the blueprint he had helped design.

“Trust me: as long as you get your part of this set up correctly, the amount of power you’re going to be using won’t leave much behind. In fact,” Root said as they walked, her excitement building with every step deeper into the belly of LithiBatt that she took, “I think you’re going to be using gas to help speed things along.”

The twist of her mouth into a smile had Peter looking a little nervous. Root could practically smell the fear on Mike as he glanced at her over his shoulder.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter note from me that apologizes for such a long wait! No surprise there. This month has more projects but nothing like last month, so you won't be waiting a month this time, I promise!
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read this! I love hearing from you guys even if I don't always have time to reply!

Somehow, they built a routine.

It had been three weeks since Root left New York. And Shaw. Some days it seemed like all there was to do was think about the angry woman stuck by herself underground, and other days Root was too busy trying to keep up with the Machine’s clues to worry about anything else.

Root would drive herself and Evans, for hours or even days at a time, across the great expanse of the United States to find the next Samaritan base (if it could be called a ‘base’). She’d traveled this way before on errands and missions on Her behalf, but never with the Machine giving only microscopic hints and subtle clues as to what to do (and when) through the white noise of the radio.

Root eventually found the grit of the ever-present noise comforting, but she could tell that it drove Mike crazy. He never knew when Root was getting a message and when she was simply lost in her own thoughts, and got fed up with being asked to be quiet when he would talk and interrupt a message from Her.

Then at the end of the day, they would find themselves at an outdated motel, and more often than not there was a letter or a package awaiting them. This didn’t surprise either one of them anymore. Evans would sulk in the background while Root would deliver a predetermined fake name to the unsuspecting employee of whatever the dingy residence of the night happened to be. They would be given a room number and key, and they would go assess their sleeping arrangements.

Some nights, Evans would sit with the television on until he nodded off, looking drawn and anxious until he finally passed into sleep. Other nights, he would face away from Root and she would know he was at the end of his rope. When he was closed off, she would retreat into the bathroom to take long showers by herself, or she would do a check of the area and then simply leave him alone in the motel room, escaping out into the brisk winter darkness because it was suffocating to be alone with him when he was fragile and weepy.

The Machine would give her coded lists of things she needed to get, and she would use those times when Evans was too low to face her to accomplish her given tasks. She didn’t know what to say to him. When she _did_ try to speak to him it only seemed to make everything worse. So she would walk through the dark into whatever small town they had stopped in, and would purchase what they needed for the coming day.

In the mornings, Evans and Root would send their daily messages to Tasha and Shaw, respectively, confirming that they were still alive. Shaw was always terse in response. Then they would push on into whatever landscape awaited them, and show up at another enormous grey building with a phony name on the front doors.

Some days there was someone waiting for them who would step forward and make themselves known, much like Peter Kelly had done at LithiBatt. A few times, Evans would recognize someone from the time he had worked with Decima instead of against them, and they would painstakingly work to figure out if the person was trustworthy or not. At every place they stopped, by the end of their time there, be it three hours or three days, they had made contact with someone that the Machine had planted there. And by the time they left, there was a solid plan in place for the location to be blown to smithereens when the time came.

Then it was back on the road, on to the next generic motel room.

When they were lucky, Root would manage to get a secure phone line set up. She’d put a call through for Evans, and within minutes he would be crying on the phone with Tasha. And while Evans was in the motel talking to his girlfriend, she would secure a second connection for herself.

It was a Thursday night, deep in the no-mans-land of Nebraska, when Root felt lower than usual. She left Mike alone to talk on the phone and went outside to stand by the car, her hands pushed deep into the pockets of her wool coat. She wrapped her scarf tight around her neck as snow fell around her, and closed her eyes against the wind, waiting for Shaw to answer the phone.

And although Sameen was always on edge, this time the call was more drawn out and irritated than usual. There wasn’t anything to _say_. Not safely, anyway.

“I want to be up there. If I don’t get outside soon I’m gonna be as pale as you,” Shaw said. Even through the thin connection, Root could tell that Shaw was getting desperate.

“As much as I like the thought of you working on your tan,” Root teased, “You know you’re safest exactly where you are.”

“I don’t _care_ about being safe. I want to _help_. And I want to feel the god damn sun on my face. I’ve been underground for over a month, Root. I’m going nuts,” Shaw said, her words harsh. Root did feel sorry for her, but it didn’t change the fact that until they’d destroyed Samaritan, the only way to be sure Shaw was safe was to keep her in the subway station.

“There’s not much sun up here anyway, sweetie. It’s been snowing,” Root told her, looking up at the dark sky as she spoke. The grey clouds seemed to stretch endlessly from horizon to horizon. She could only imagine that if Shaw _had_ been able to see the sky, they’d be seeing the same view.

By the time the call ended, Root felt no better than she had when they started speaking.

Then, a few days later, in Plain City, Utah, there had been a change to the routine.

Root and Mike had split up to complete two tasks simultaneously. Root had been walking down the hall in one of the seemingly infinite Samaritan buildings, moving towards the elevator, already thinking about where they might be heading next. There were a few other employees waiting by the doors, and as Root approached, the elevator opened with a phony, cheerful ding. She started to slow her pace to turn and enter.

That’s when it happened.

When she was aligned with the doors, she caught the eye of a woman inside and there was a flash of recognition in the stranger’s face. In her ear, the Machine hummed sharply- the first sound through the cochlear implant Root had heard in weeks. It wasn’t a word. It wasn’t even an explanation. But it caused the hair on Root’s neck to stand on end. The suit the woman was wearing was nice enough to cost more than the rest of the employees’ clothing combined, and she was physically fit in that way that meant she had been training for action.

More worrisome than that, Root recognized the tell-tale sag of a concealed weapon in the front of the woman’s suit coat.

Root reoriented her body and continued past the elevator, speeding up to reach the end of the hall as fast as possible, to the stairwell at the end of the building. She glanced back as she rounded the corner but the woman who had recognized her had not followed. That didn’t mean there weren’t more agents all over the building, and it didn’t mean that Root was safe. But it did leave the possibility that Mike could be in danger and have no idea. She raced down the stairs, sick to her stomach.

As soon as Root had located Mike and their latest undercover worker courtesy of the Machine, they had high-tailed it out of town. Root didn’t see the woman again or any sign of any other operatives that might have been watching, but she knew with absolute certainty that the woman had been a Decima agent. Their inside man was safe, the Machine assured Root, but the experience had shaken them. Root knew that Samaritan was getting dangerously close to catching on.

So they drove through the night, Mike looking sick and terrified in the passenger seat, neither of them saying what they were both thinking: this could all be over soon.

When they stopped driving, they’d been running for almost a full twenty four hours.

Neshkoro, Wisconsin was quiet. Sleepily draped in a thick layer of snow.

Root let Mike call Tasha and she herself stepped out into the brisk morning air to contact Sameen.

Shaw was sullen. This was somehow worse than her usual argumentative mood, and Root didn’t know what to do to make Shaw snap out of the funk she was in. Not knowing what to do about Mike was frustrating, but Sameen’s poor attitude made Root physically hurt.

“You’re awfully quiet. Quieter than usual,” Root had said, trying to be lighthearted.

“Yeah.”

Root didn’t know how to reply to that. But after seeing the woman in the elevator the day before, she knew that she wanted to say _something_. There was a good chance that Samaritan was catching up to them, and if that was true, there was a good chance this would be Root’s last mission.

“I saw someone yesterday,” Root said, tucking her lip between her teeth. Shaw didn’t reply. “I think they might know what we’re planning.”

Shaw still said nothing, and Root tried to picture her in the subway station but found that she couldn’t quite figure out why Shaw was being so distant.

“Sam, I’m scared,” Root finally said.

“You shouldn’t be,” Shaw replied, terse. Root’s stomach dropped. “This is our job.” 

“I know. But it’s different now,” she said.

“No. It’s not.”

Root felt herself recoil as if she’d been slapped. Those words wounded Root to her core. It _was_ different now. It _had_ to be.

Root re-entered the motel room, somehow both numb and burnt raw from the cold and from Shaw.

She knew that after she and Evans had slept a few hours, they had to keep working. But she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was go home to Sameen and lay down on the cot in the subway station. To sleep for days, dead to the world.

At least when she had done missions for the Machine before, the pay-off had been quick and satisfying. This cross-country meandering voyage was all silence and stealth. Even when the buildings all over the country _did_ eventually blow up (assuming they got far enough that that day would come), Root would only be able to blindly trust that all of the participants in the Machine’s secret games would succeed.

Root rested, motionless on the bed beside Evans’, but found she couldn’t sleep despite having been up all night and the day before.

Finally it was morning again, and Root and Evans were outside of yet another depressingly grey building. Root thought to herself that it was nice, at least, that the sky was blue and clear. That was new. The only other thing ‘new’ was the possible danger of lurking Samaritan operatives. Root swallowed hard against that thought and led the way inside.

Within moments of entering the building, a young woman caught Root’s eye. She was fit, with caramel skin, an angular jaw clenched with determination, and dark hair tied back from her face. When their eyes met, Root momentarily thought it was Shaw and her heart leapt into her throat. Immediately she realized her mistake. This girl was maybe mid-twenties, and aside from her agitated demeanor and, to a degree, her coloring, she and Shaw didn’t look similar at all.

But the girl and Root were still looking at one another, and the girl seemed to have recognized something in Root, which made her think that this might be another of Samaritan’s goons, keeping an eye out for Root and anyone else the Machine might have connected with. She barely suppressed her overwhelming urge to pull her gun and shoot the woman. Luckily, she managed to hold off just long enough that she saw the tiny nod of acknowledgment and the gesture with her chin towards the glass doors Root had just entered.

Without a word, the girl walked past Root and exited the building without looking back. Root paused, waiting without much hope for the Machine to give her a hint. None came, of course. The Machine had been resorting to the tiniest messages these days.

“I think I left my phone in the car,” Root said, turning to Evans. When they made eye contact, she realized they were the first words she’d spoken to him since the previous day. He looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow even though it wasn’t nine am yet. Somehow she hadn’t noticed that his face was beginning to thin, and his hair was getting shaggy. She would have to find someplace to get it cut. Otherwise, he would draw attention to himself simply by looking unprofessional. Her words had jostled him out of his malaise, and his brow furrowed.

“Oh,” he replied, and he blinked once in confusion.

“Come with me?” she asked, turning and opening the door for him. He looked back towards the reception desk, where a bored man with a poorly-knotted necktie was staring at a computer screen. Root gave Mike a look of warning and finally he walked out through the door into the snowy parking lot they’d only escaped from minutes earlier.

Out in the snow, the girl was waiting. A lit cigarette hung from between her fingers.

“Go and look in the car,” Root told Evans.

“Look in the car for what?” Mike asked. Root gave him a stern look.

“I’ll come and get you. Until then, go get in the car and look busy,” She told him. He shuffled out across the parking lot, stepping carefully around the deep banks of accumulated snow.

Root walked towards the girl, still standing with the cigarette in her hand, and paused, looking out towards Mike and the car.

“You know smoking kills?” Root said, coy as ever.

“Yeah well…” the girl replied. “Doubt I’m gonna die from lung cancer.”

“And why is that?” Root asked. The girl looked over at Root with an expression that said she should already know the answer. Root’s eyebrows raised.

“Well first of all, I don’t smoke,” the girl said, flicking ash from the cigarette and watching it fall to the ground. “I got a message, told me to pick up a pack. Said I should talk to you outside because the threat level is higher than expected. We’re supposed to wait until tomorrow.”

The girl extended the pack and a lighter to Root with a meaningful look. Root pulled a thin cigarette out and accepted the light. It would allow them more time to talk if it looked like they both had a reason to stay outside, Root realized.

“Besides, you and I both know I’m not going to live long enough to get cancer,” the girl said. Root looked over at her but the girl was examining the filter on the end of her cigarette like she was contemplating taking a drag. Root’s stomach churned again, reminded of Shaw. “As far as I can tell, we’re planning on blowing this place up, right?”

“Not with you inside of it,” Root told her.

“No, but just because we stop these manipulative sons-of-bitches doesn’t mean we win. There’s always gonna be somebody playing with a stacked deck. Why would I stop fighting just because these assholes are out of the picture?” she said. Root looked across the parking lot. Evans was shuffling through the contents of the glove box. Root knew he was probably uncomfortable with the amount of ammunition she’d stored there along with three pistols. “We’re going to have to steal some microprocessors from in there.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Root said dismissively. “If you’re looking to make some quick cash, you can plan that—”

“It’s a cover-up,” the girl bit across Root’s words. “A way for us to get where we need to be inside the building. That way if we get caught we’ve got a believable reason to be there.”

Root couldn’t help but be a little impressed with the idea. Even if it did mean they might end up arrested.

“They’re crawling all over in there,” the girl said. “I saw a whole SUV of ‘em pull up an hour ago.”

Root looked over at the girl and wondered how she had ended up here.

From the corner of her eye Root caught movement. Evans was returning from the car despite the clear instructions he had been given to stay there until she came and got him.

“He seems sort of useless,” the girl said as he approached, slipping on an icy patch. Root smirked.

Fleetingly, she was reminded of Shaw’s hard edge, and her heart pounded in her rib cage. Then she blinked and the moment had passed as suddenly as it had come. This was not Shaw. It was a young woman in her mid-twenties who had been chosen by the Machine for this task. She was probably exceedingly smart with a quick wit to match, as that was the sort of person the Machine preferred, but she was not a soldier. She was barely out of college. Hell, she was barely more than a kid.

Root’s heart ached at the thought of this girl dying. The determined expression that met her own was a mask that might have been made as a replica of Shaw’s, but if _Shaw_ was not the heartless monster she pretended to be, this young woman was a kid playing dress-up.

“This is a dangerous job,” Root said, the words out of her mouth before she’d realized she was going to say them. The girl’s eyebrows furrowed, and Root could feel Evans’ confusion and surprise at her elbow.

“I know that,” the girl replied.

“No, I don’t think you do,” Root said. The girl looked angry, and then her expression faltered. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for Root to see how right she was. This girl was a kid. This wasn’t exactly how things usually went down on one of their stops. Root would never try to convince their allies to back out. But today was different. Their ally was a child and the situation was much more dangerous than usual.

“I _do_ ,” the girl said, flashing a compact handgun from inside her coat. “At least doing this, I know that I’m _doing something_ to stop these monsters.”

Root was taken aback. She missed the days when the Machine was able to give her a full file’s worth of information on the people she was interacting with. These days, she was entirely left to her own devices to determine what made people tick.

“They tried to pay off my mom so she wouldn’t go public. They were doing things to her in the hospital. Experiments. She was in a car accident, and she had this…” the girl stopped and shook her head, her mouth twitching, and Root watched her rearrange her expression into that furious mask again. The one that reminded her of Sameen. The blow that this delivered to her gut was heavy. It was hard enough to push down her feelings at night, standing alone in front of the latest crummy motel mirror, looking in the reflection at the medal hanging around her neck. She had to look away from the girl, shaken. She dropped her cigarette, watching it melt the snow a bit before it extinguished itself.

“What’s your name?” Root asked. The girl looked closely at Root.

“Divya,” she said after a beat. Root nodded.

“You can call me Root,” Root told her, then gestured with her head towards Evans. “And this is Mike.”

None of them bothered extending a hand to one another.

The girl dropped her own unsmoked cigarette and ground it into the pavement with her shoe, handed Root a slip of paper, then turned to go back inside.

“That’s my burner’s number. Call it tomorrow morning,” Divya said. Then she was gone.

A few hours later, Root texted Shaw. Told her they were in a holding pattern. Asked if everything was well in the subway station.

The response came quickly.

“Set up a phone line.”

Root’s heart leapt into her throat. What had happened? Why was Shaw asking her for something? She did as she had been asked quickly and stepped out into the snow, leaving Mike to watch day time TV.

“What’s the plan?” Shaw asked, angry and much more energetic than she had been in weeks. “You gonna run around from warehouse to warehouse until you get killed? You’re not even _destroying_ them, you’re just putting yourself in enemy territory with a made up name, hoping they don’t shoot you, then running away to the next bad situation.”

“We can’t destroy them yet,” Root told her, forcing her voice to remain calm in the face of Shaw’s fury. Root smirked and looked at the blank, dark sky. “This isn’t a job for a hammer. Not yet. Right now, all I can do is plant a seed at each facility. All I need is for one worker to doubt their employers.”

“A _seed_?” Shaw asked, incredulous and pissed. “Root, we need a whole lot more than _one seed_ here. We need the whole god damn _forest_ if we want to win.”

Root looked down at her hands, thinking of the feeling of Shaw’s body under her finger tips.

“All it takes is one person to change everything. Every one of those single people at each location? That’s the forest,” Root said.

“Yeah? And what happens when one of those people gets cold feet?” Shaw asked, pausing. “Or gets cut down?”

Root swallowed hard, turning to look at the motel room door. She didn’t have an answer. She couldn’t believe that today of all days Shaw was saying this. Today, when Root was already thinking the same thing herself.

“Root?” Shaw asked, wondering if Root was still on the other end of the call, and Root knew she had to say _something_. She just wished she could make it something more reassuring.

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Root said.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t find who it was, but somebody a long time ago is going to be pretty pleased with this chapter and upcoming ones. I already had this mapped out but it was a long way off at that point (clearly… I can’t even find the comment I’m referring to) There are a few other things people had asked about that are still coming, just not quite yet. That’s all I’ll say on the subject for now. Vague enough for you? :) No spoilers!
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this and leaving kudos and comments on it! It means the world to me to know you guys are enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

The next morning, Root and Evans met Divya in the snowy parking lot. She was standing near the doors, another unsmoked cigarette dangling from her fingers. Despite her business casual attire, Root couldn’t help but think she looked too young to be involved in any of this.

Upon catching sight of Root, who was encouraging Mike to hurry up across the freshly-plowed parking lot, Divya walked over to a trashcan with an ashtray on top and ground the cigarette into the snow that had accumulated there.

“You’re both armed?” Divya asked. Root nodded.

“Mikey here has never shot anyone,” Root teased, putting a condescending hand on Evans' shoulder. He scowled, but any malice that might have caused him to be remotely threatening was undermined by his obvious anxiety and mournfulness. Divya only stared him down, her own worry manifesting as irritation.

They had agreed that even Evans needed to be carrying, just in case. Mike wasn’t thrilled about the decision, to say the least, but he had a handgun tucked into the waistband of his pants nonetheless.

“Don’t worry. We’ll do out best to keep it that way,” Root told him with an apologetic smile, feeling guilty for making him more uncomfortable. He needed to be as steady as possible.

“You ready?” Divya asked. When Root responded with a forced smirk and a nod, Divya turned and entered the building, flashing an ID badge at the same man that had been sitting behind the desk the day before. He had a different necktie with a knot that was no better than the previous morning’s, and he barely glanced their direction.

Root found herself wondering why they had needed to wait a day if this was how lax the security was: just a bored man who hadn’t ever fully learned how to dress himself properly. It was hard to believe that if the place had been covered by Decima’s people the day before, it would now be so danger-free.

As they wove deeper into the labyrinth, Root continued to be surprised by how little resistance they came upon. It was so simple to get down into the guts of the warehouse that Root’s mind was free to wander to Shaw.

Root didn’t fully understand why Shaw had been so upset with her the day before. It had seemed so unwarranted and unexpected after the slow, steady decline into sullen silence. And the timing of Shaw’s explosion was far from ideal: it had come at the exact moment when Root most needed Sameen’s support.

It made Root want desperately to tell Shaw where they were, and what they were doing. Then maybe the angry woman in the subway station would be more understanding. Or maybe she would just be furious, and storm out of hiding.

No, Root knew that she couldn’t tell Sameen all of the details if she wanted to keep the shorter woman safely tucked away underground.

Divya stopped short and while Root reacted quickly, Mike bumped into them both. Divya turned to Root.

“Don’t suppose our boss sent you a back-up plan?” Divya whispered. Root glanced around the corner, past the Indian girl, and saw four people in suits down the next hallway, escorting two women in lab coats away from Root, Divya, and Mike.

Root looked up at a security camera, praying that the Machine would say something.

And after a beat, Root heard Her. It was such a surprise to finally have Her in her ear again that Root inhaled sharply in surprise and pleasure.

“What’s wrong with you?” Divya asked. Evans put out a hand to stop Divya from speaking, his eyes on Root. When Root looked at him, she was startled by just how hopeful he looked. There was even a smile beginning to show on his open mouth.

Even though Root felt similarly ecstatic to be hearing from the Machine finally, she had a sinking feeling that the contact meant they might be in serious trouble.

“We split up. The two of you are going back the way we came. Through the second office on the left, down the hall. Find the East Stairwell,” Root parroted the Machine’s instructions. Divya looked confident and ready to go, but Mike’s face fell.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” Root said, condescending as usual.

“I’m worried about _me_ ,” Mike said. Root had to admire the fact that he was so blunt. “If you know where to go to get away from these people, I want to go with you.”

“Go with Divya. I’ll meet back up with you,” Root told him. Divya was already grabbing him by the elbow and hauling him after her down the hall. Root watched them go.

The young woman’s unquestioning loyalty reminded Root of herself, and she hoped that the Machine would keep them both safe, leaving the dangerous work for Root to do. She looked up at the camera and smiled.

“Where are we off to?” Root asked, and her grin widened when the Machine rattled off more instructions.

As soon as she was given a direction to walk, Root had turned and started to move. Once the directions had been given, the Machine went silent again, and Root was left to follow the course on her own, watching closely for any sign that Decima was nearby.

A man stopped her when she rounded a corner.

“You’re not supposed to be down here. Got your ID on you?” he asked. When she smiled at him and tried to back out of the conversation, he looked suspicious. And when she saw that he was about to radio in, she shot him in both kneecaps and ripped his earpiece off of him, crushing it under her heel.

A few quiet minutes later, Root opened the door to a room and slipped inside, quickly taking down three more Decima agents, two women and a man. She assessed the security of the room, then put a hand into her pocket to reload, knowing she’d used all of the bullets in her Colt Mustang. She liked using the little pistol- even with the silencer attached it hardly took up any space and weighed almost nothing.

But when she pulled the little box of ammo out of her pocket, she felt her stomach drop. It took her a second to realize that she had given Mike instructions, and he hadn’t followed them. She had told him to put the box of .380 ammo into her jacket and a box for the 9mm he was wielding into his own pocket. But the box that Root was looking down at was for the 9mm. Which meant that she had no more bullets. And if Mike was in trouble, he would only have a few shots himself.

And this was where the Machine’s instructions had ended. Root thought to herself that at least this meant that she had a few minutes to search the unconscious agents for weapons. Knowing that she wasn't in any immediate danger made her feeling much more sure of herself.

But before she knelt to check the agents for weapons, Root realized what room she was in. She stepped forward and came to stand in the center of the small space. In front of her, all of the security feeds were displayed on a number of monitors. On them, Root counted at least twelve Decima agents. They stood out like sore thumbs from the employees of Samaritan's cover business. The stance and stride alone gave the agents away.

Two people were missing, Root realized.

She hadn’t yet spotted Divya or Mike.

In her ear, the Machine told Root to cut the feeds. The sudden command made Root jump a little.

“You’ll be blind,” Root said, hesitating.

The Machine repeated the command. At the same moment, Root found Divya and Mike. He was wearing a lab coat, and she was doing her best to mimic the brusque demeanor of Samaritan’s goons. Root’s worry for the girl spiked: Divya's best impression of an agent wasn’t good enough. She was probably going to be stopped quite soon.

The Machine repeated Her command a third time, and Root recognized this as the only way She could express impatience.

Root opened the panel on the wall and reached out to disconnect the wires.

The Machine squealed feedback into Root’s head. Root recognized this as the same warning she’d received when the Decima agent was in the elevator.

She spun.

Jeremy Lambert stood inside the doorway, his hands up in an almost playful way, a deep smirk dimpling his cheeks. Before he could say anything she lunged at him, grabbing the lapel of his suit coat and shoving him into the doorframe, jabbing her unloaded gun into his abdomen.

“You’re quite good at disappearing, Miss Groves,” Lambert said with a smug grin. “It seems every time I turn around, you and your friends have vanished again.”

“I won’t pretend I don’t wish you’d do the same,” Root said, her gun held tight in her hand. Pushing it harder against his stomach, she felt the end of the muzzle slip off his ribcage, bearing into his diaphragm. He put a hand on her arm. The one that had been shot. Root saddened at the thought of how long it had been since she’d received this wound. How long it had been since she was last in the subway station. His grip was just firm enough that it ached, his eyes flitting down towards her hand at his gut briefly, then slowly making their way back up to her face. His smile didn’t falter. She wondered if he knew that she was out of ammo.

“How did you know I was here?” Root asked.

“Well, your accomplice’s girlfriend made the mistake of using her old cell phone. And once we knew where _she_ was… well, even though she’d disappeared before we got there, it wasn’t hard to find a number to reach _him_. And his brand new burner cellphone turned up right here. You didn’t really think you could come, with your friend, _inside_ the building and _not_ be caught, did you?” Lambert explained, obviously enjoying himself. Root felt her heart sink further into her stomach the more he spoke.

“Miss Groves-” Lambert said, his tone patronizing.

“Call me Root,” she interrupted defiantly. He smiled down at her.

“I’ll call you anything you like,” Lambert replied coyly, hardly missing a beat. “I know that you have some larger plan with your Machine to stop Samaritan. But I honestly fail to see the point. Samaritan is necessary. And you will not succeed.”

“You may have backed the US government into a corner and fed them lies about your plans to save the world, but She knows better. I mean, come on-” Root’s voice shook with a little laughter, deceptively light-hearted, “You were trying to _kill_ an employee just for second-guessing your plans.”

“This war can only end one way: with the decimation of your little band of miscreants,” Lambert replied. “There’s nothing left for you to attempt.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Root said with a smirk.

“Oh? And what is it that you plan to _do_?” He asked. When he spoke, his eyes strayed to her mouth, and she pursed her lips, controlling the slight sneer of anger and replacing it with the false smirk that rarely failed to get people to do what she wanted.

“Whatever it takes to put this to bed,” Root said. She watched his eyes light up at what she fully intended for him to read as innuendo.

Lambert smiled back at her.

“Well then. I can think of a thing or two that might help _that_. That is, if we’re done playing cat and mouse?” Lambert asked, his smirk and tone making it very clear that he didn’t mind their current positions, Root pressed against him. Not even her gun, still pushed into the soft tissue of his abdomen, could rattle him.

“Not until Samaritan has put every one of us in the ground,” Root said, seething with anger and defiance and channeling it into a seductive tone and the hint of a flirtatious smile. She dug the metal tip of the handgun even harder into his stomach. He exhaled a little chuckle and she could feel his breath on her chin, causing her fury to boil hotter in her stomach.

“Didn’t you ever watch cartoons?” Root asked, sneering and tilting her head to the side. Lambert raised an eyebrow, and Root leaned in. “The mouse always wins.”

Lambert’s grin widened.

“You don’t _really_ think you can outsmart us,” Lambert said. “I don’t even think you want to _try_. You know as well as I do that the game is up. And I’ve all but won.”

He gripped her gun-hand’s wrist, wrapping his warm fingers around her almost tenderly.

“I have a few tricks left,” Root said, practically purring. She wondered at what point it would be best to turn the tables on him. He was looking at her with an eager glint in his eyes, and she leaned closer to him to play as coy as possible. “I think you’ll be impressed.”

His face was moving closer to her own, her gun loose in her hand. She continued looking directly into his dark eyes, attempting to gauge if she could over-power him now or if she should wait until he was in a more compromising position. If he thought that she was letting him turn a loaded gun away from him, he might already not suspect that she was thinking about the best way to knock him unconscious. She felt his breath on her mouth again and parted her lips, watching his eyes crinkle with a smile. He tightened the hand on the old wound in her elbow and she tried reflexively to twist out of his grip. Lambert pulled her closer against him and she could smell his expensive cologne.

“You’ve got no bullets, lovely. Or did you think I was unaware?” He teased.

Root felt a wave of nausea as he wrenched her unloaded weapon from her hand and tossed it aside, pulling a revolver out from under his jacket and pressing it into her stomach, lower than where her gun had been pressed. The end of his gun’s barrel was firm against the dip beside her hip bone.

She smiled to cover her fear, but had to blink to hide the moment when her mind leapt to Shaw. She thought of Sameen kissing the very spot where Lambert’s revolver was now jabbing into her. Sameen, sitting in the subway station, waiting for news. She would be worried when she didn’t hear anything.

“So, Root,” Lambert said her name teasingly, that smug smirk still on his face. “What’s your plan now?”

There was a loud noise and Root flinched, thinking for a moment that she’d been shot. When she realized that she hadn’t been, she looked at Lambert, half-expecting to see pain on _his_ face. He just looked confused, and turned to look over his shoulder. There was no one in the doorway.

“What happened?” Lambert asked, his eyes flitting away from hers and his head turning just enough that Root could tell he wasn’t asking her. He was speaking to whoever was on the other end of his earpiece.

Lambert’s grip on Root’s elbow relaxed as he tried to assess what had occurred. From the look on his face she could tell that it wasn’t good news for him. That was all that Root needed. While Lambert was listening to his ear piece, Root tore her arm away from him and jabbed him in the jaw, then grabbed his gun hand, twisting it up and behind his back until he let go, still reeling from her uppercut.

“ _That_ ,” Root said, watching his eyes lock on hers again. Her smile grew at the minute expression of concern on his face. “Was a seed.”

Lambert’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Then his hands were on her again, trying to fight the gun back from her.

Root yanked the gun away and maneuvered her hand against his grappling. With a loud bang, she shot him in the thigh.

He fell into her with a strangled cry, and she tried to push him off of her. But he grabbed at her shirt to steady himself, dragging her down with him until she was halfway on top of him on the ground. She jerked herself free from his hands and shoved herself off of him, leaping up to look into the security feeds, hoping that Evans and Divya had been clear of the blast.

She wondered who had set it off, and how they’d managed it at all. Divya and Root had explicitly talked about when and where the explosives should be placed, and Divya had said that she would get them when the time came. Evans certainly had no knowledge of explosives, so Root was worried.

The Machine repeated Her command again, asking Root to cut the feeds. Root reached out to the box to pull the wires free.

Right as they disconnected, she saw a flash of dark hair and what could have been a lab coat. Her mind leapt straight to Shaw as the screen went dark. But it was Divya and Evans, Root knew. She felt sick to her stomach, but at the very least was glad that they had lived through the explosion.

She raced from the room with Lambert’s gun still drawn, trying to find her way back to Divya and Mike at the opposite end of the building as quickly as possible. Without the Machine in her ear Root was blind, but she refused to let that slow her down.

After running what felt like miles through the labyrinth, panic began to creep into Root’s muscles and bones, slowing her down.

Then she heard sirens, and rounded a corner to suddenly enter the foyer of the building, where the front desk now sat unoccupied.

Outside, there were police vehicles, a fire truck, and three ambulances.

On a stretcher, being lifted into the back of one of the ambulances, was a dark-haired woman. She turned her head to the side and Root saw that it was Divya.

She was saying something to Mike, who was standing beside her, dumbfounded, in the snowy parking lot. Divya looked around herself and she suddenly reacted to something that Root couldn’t see, gesturing wildly for Mike to come with her in the ambulance. When the paramedics tried to keep her calm, she said something to them, pointing at Mike emphatically.

A paramedic with short blond hair tried to take a hold of Divya's hand to reassure her, then followed Divya’s pointing finger to look at Evans. She reached out and took Evans’ elbow, helping him into the back of the ambulance gently.

Root saw that Decima agents were moving towards the ambulance hurriedly, but the ambulance door swung shut and pulled away before they had made it to Divya and Evans.

Root stood frozen inside the glass doors, alarmed and not sure what to do next. She turned to look at the security camera above the desk, but then remembered that the Machine had turned the feeds off.

She was alone.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I hope that you all like this chapter- I've spent quite some time trying to decide if this is the best way to handle the upcoming scenes and I really hope that it is!

Shaw was alone.

The dark-haired woman turned off the shower after standing for far too long under the stream of hot water.

Without bothering to grab the towel first, she moved to look at the mirror, fogged up with steam. Reaching out, she swiped the glass clear and saw her own face. Noted the gradual changes to her body. Her skin looked too pale and the circles under her eyes were getting worse every day. She didn’t sleep much. When she did, she didn’t sleep _well_.

Despite her best efforts to stay in top form while trapped in the subway, she felt like she was disappearing.

It was a relief to watch her reflection fade again in the overheated room. But something in her didn’t want relief. She wanted the dull, unnamable ache in her chest.

She reached out and swiped the glass clear again.

 _If the Machine was watching me here, now_ , she wondered, _What would it see? A soldier? A prisoner? Would it take the same measurements that I take? Note the changes in my skin tone? The signs that I can’t sleep? Body mass index? Muscle tone up to snuff?_

Her eyes travelled over the mirror, examining the hard muscles that she worked every day for hours. They were strong, but she felt smaller. Like she was wasting away.

As her gaze moved, she caught on the scars that decorated her body.

She reached up with one hand to touch the slick patch on her abdomen. The gut wound from her previous employer. Her lips pursed at the memory as she pulled at the scar to watch the way her skin moved around it. Then she twisted her body, moving on to the scar on her thigh from the time they _hadn’t_ killed the senator. Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked to the puckered wound at her shoulder from when she’d been trying to save Gen.

Shaw pressed her fingers against the long-healed wound and grimaced. The scar didn’t hurt. No, it actually brought a sort of security to Shaw. Like tattoos, they were a reminder. A series of badges that people would see and know better than to ask about. Just make assumptions and move on, thinking whatever they wanted about Shaw and her dour expressions. And best of all, the scars didn’t ever seem to change. They stayed pale and smooth and familiar in their inhuman scaliness.

But it wasn’t really true that they didn’t change, she reminded herself as she caught sight of another scar out of the corner of her eye. Refusing to look at it, she let her fingertip circle the edge of the wound from the day she met Gen, trying to distract herself from the magnetic pull of the scar she’d glimpsed on her sternum. But it was no use. Gen, of course, led Shaw to thinking of The Order of Lenin. Which was now with Root.

Shaw’s jaw clenched as soon as she pictured Root’s face. She ground her teeth at the thought of the woman’s coy little smile, those enormous dark eyes that saw _everything_. She was the Machine’s little helper monkey, after all. The ache in Shaw’s chest grew and her eyes found the fading ghost of a scar in the center of her chest despite her attempts to avoid thinking about it.

This wound, from Finch’s taser, was disappearing.

Sameen covered the scar with the palm of her hand, just as Root had done when she first saw it. Shaw didn’t know why that was Root’s reaction. The look on Root’s face when she had seen the scab had made Shaw feel… what? Angry? Not really. It was something else. Something that made her sick to her stomach to think about.

Shaw swallowed hard. She felt angry _now_ , trying to stop herself from thinking about the fucking emotions that for no reason had decided to start to consume her every time she thought of the woman who had really only ever been a pain in the ass.

There was a whisper from deep in Shaw’s brain that pointed out that Root had also saved her repeatedly and helped the whole crew at every turn. Not to mention the fact that she was great in bed. And hot as hell. And smart. And so quick with her two guns that, though Shaw would never admit it, she never failed to impress Shaw. _And_ there was the fact that she was kind. Gentle. When they were alone, anyway. And while that in and of itself was a surprise, what made Shaw _more_ surprised was the fact that sometimes she liked Root’s softer side.

 _Fuck_ , she cursed internally and let her hand drop to her side.

 _Would the Machine know what I’m thinking? And would the Machine and Samaritan see the same things if they both looked at me like this? Would they know why my heart feels like it’s being crushed in my chest?_ Shaw wondered, looking her reflection in the eye in the mirror.

_Who is this person? Why am I becoming her?_

_Would the Machine know the answer to that? Does it see down into us? Into me?_

_Hell, maybe I’m the only one who doesn’t understand these things. Maybe I’m blind._

She sighed deeply, dragging the towel over her head to dry her hair.

The Machine, of course, could _not_ see her in the bathroom. Even if it could, she had no idea what the Machine thought of things. If it thought at all.

Once she dressed, Shaw exited the bathroom and walked to the subway car, staring in at the open laptop. The camera that she knew was watching her.

 _I hope it_ does _see into me. Because I can’t. And I don’t know what it means that when I think of Root, I can’t stop the rush inside me. Adrenaline? Dopamine? Whatever it is, I don’t know what to do with that chemical response. Those feelings that keep growing. Getting worse._

 _Along with the dreams,_ she thought.

About half the time, she dreamt of one of the members of the Machine’s little team in perilous situations: getting caught by Samaritan’s shit-headed thugs while the Machine just watched through the glass lens of a camera as Shaw struggled to get to that night’s victim. More often than not, that victim was Root. And Shaw was always too late. Sameen would wake up cold, sweat over every inch of her body.

The other half of the time, the dreams starred Root in less dangerous but equally compromising situations. In these dreams, Root was in various states of undress. Shaw had no idea at what point the woman had slipped into her subconscious so completely. But on those nights, Sameen was utterly consumed by Root. Her dark eyes, the curl of a smirk on her lips, that perfect nose bumping her own. It was ecstasy. Then she would wake up soaked with sweat. One hand down the front of her underwear, the other gripping the sheets desperately. Or with her pillow clutched tight between her thighs. She would be so hot that she had no choice but to get up and splash icy water on her face and on the back of her neck. She hated that she couldn’t stop herself. She hated Root for having done this to her.

Shaw sat down in Finch’s chair, listening to the constant hum of the subway station that seemed to get louder every day. It was only ever interrupted by John or Lionel coming with food or asking for her help in dealing with a number, and occasionally by the filthy rats scuttling across the platform. The latter never lasted long: once Bear was sent hurtling their direction they didn’t stand much of a chance.

Shaw slid the mouse across the pad at Finch’s ever-unoccupied desk, watching his screen come to life and pulling the earbuds towards her from where they rested on his keyboard. She settled in, listening to the aimless sound of quiet rustling through the earbuds, pulling the laptop onto her lap to pick up where she’d left off reading from the laptop’s screen. But she couldn’t keep her eyes off of Finch’s desktop.

Because on his screen, there was a window that she never closed. She’d tried to turn it off for a while, to let it stay shut while she slept at the very least, but the thought of what might happen if she stopped watching kept her up at night. So now, the only time she ever hid it from view was when Fusco or Reese were there. She didn’t want either of them asking questions that she didn’t know how to answer.

She suddenly realized that it had been a full twenty four hours since she’d last had contact with another human. There had been no text from Root today. No call since their argument a few days earlier, when Shaw had tried to lurch herself out of her malaise and had told Root that she _had_ to get out and feel the sun on her face soon. It had been over a month since she’d been aboveground.

And all Root had done in response was make a joke about Shaw tanning.

Shaw sure as fuck wasn’t going to be the one to call Root first. Especially not after the taller woman hadn’t taken her seriously. But not hearing from her was making Shaw more antsy. More aggressive with the guys when they did turn up.

It wasn’t even that she minded being left alone. She generally _liked_ not having to socialize. But _generally_ , that meant that she was by herself in her apartment, or staking out the next asshole she got to shoot in the knees. This, on the other hand? This was torture. All she had was a pair of computers, the dog, and a space that Root had filled with these moments that Shaw couldn’t shake loose. Everything in the station made Shaw think of the taller woman. The shower, the bed, the subway car, her clothes, even the chair she was currently sitting in. Hell, the _dog’s toys_ were courtesy of Root. Shaw grit her teeth and refocused her train of thought.

She was hoping it would be John that stopped by today. She genuinely _liked_ John (not that she didn’t appreciate Fusco, but the guy couldn’t go five minutes without making her want to punch him). He was like the big brother she’d never had.

The Jem to her Scout.

 _Shit_ , she thought, and tried not to think about _To Kill A Mockingbird_ : the book that Root had referenced in passing. Shaw didn’t even know if Root realized how true the association had been. She shook her head, refocusing once more on the possibility of a visit from Fusco or Reese.

_John. Right._

She liked hearing Reese’s detailed accounts of the day’s number-saving while she ate whatever food he’d brought that visit. She wasn’t sure what she enjoyed more- the foods he’d learned that she preferred or the tales he told of getting to go out and beat the shit out of somebody who really, truly deserved it.

She sighed heavily at the thought, pressing her fingers into her temples as she continued to watch Finch’s screen. _To Kill a Mockingbird_ was open on the laptop, but she’d barely read a paragraph all day. She was too busy watching that second screen. The blip that kept slowly moving. This evening it was heading into Utah.

“Is that a map?”

The laptop very nearly fell to the floor as Shaw whirled around to glare at John, tearing the earbuds out of her ears. She hadn't heard him approach.

His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked at Harold’s computer, and Shaw turned to close the map that she’d been watching. Because of course he was right.

He had already crossed the subway car and was looking over her shoulder before she had closed it. She could only hope he hadn’t understood what he was looking at.

“You’ve been tracking her this whole time?” John asked, bemused.

 _Fuck_. The swear boiled in Shaw’s gut. She regretted admitting to herself that she wanted him to show up sometime. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised: sooner or later she was bound to get caught. As with everything else in life, it was always only a matter of time before something went wrong.

But knowing that John had immediately known that it was Root that she was watching made Shaw squirm inside. Instead of answering, she turned back to glare at him. He raised his eyebrows at her, a mixture of disbelief and amusement clear in his face. It seemed her non-answer was no less of an admission than if she’d spoken. It only made her more pissed.

_When did I become so transparent?_

“She hasn’t figured it out?” he asked in disbelief. Shaw pursed her lips and jerked her chin to shake her head.

“If she had, do you think I’d still be able to see where she is?” Shaw asked sarcastically. His mouth twisted into a smirk but his eyes remained narrow. He looked back to the screen where the map had been.

“How’d you manage that?” He asked. Shaw knew he was probably cataloging Root’s possessions- the litany of items that appeared for one identity and disappeared for the next, never to be seen again. Her clothes were costumes, always changing. “Her phone?”

Shaw didn’t answer. She could tell from his expression that John didn’t seem to think that was possible, and she wasn’t about to explain herself. Screw that: he had no need to know.

He did not need to know that she had hidden the tiny tracking device and microphone in the folded ribbon attached to the Order of Lenin that she’d watched Root hang around her neck before she left. He didn’t need to know that Shaw had kept the medal to begin with, much less that she had given it to Root because there wasn’t a doubt in Shaw’s mind that Root would never let it leave her person if Shaw told her not to.

John didn’t need to know that. It said too much about Shaw’s feelings. No, she reminded herself, it said a lot about _Root’s_ feelings. All that it said about _Shaw_ was that she was manipulative. Taking advantage of Root’s affection. Shaw didn’t even believe this herself as she repeated the lie for the hundredth time that week.

It seemed that Reese knew he wasn’t going to get an answer, because he lifted the bag of food and turned to put it on the table.

“You worried about her?” John asked, tearing the paper bag where it had been stapled shut at the top. Shaw glared at him again.

“I’m worried about _everything_ ,” she replied, terse. He barely looked at her, the slight raise of his eyebrows and the tiny smirk on his mouth making Shaw wish, not for the first time, that she had a gun to threaten him with.

“If something happens, I want to know. And she’s not _talking_ to me, so how else am I supposed to make sure she’s not getting herself killed?” Shaw asked. “I already have to sit around wondering where the hell Finch is. If he’s still _alive_ out there somewhere or if Decima’s caught up to another one of us-”

“Not yet, Miss Shaw.”

John and Shaw both looked up in surprise. Harold Finch was walking towards the subway car across the platform, looking very tired, but also very much alive and unharmed aside from the limp that never went away.

Bear leapt up from his bed where he had been sound asleep, whining in greeting as he darted to Finch’s side and pushed his nose into the palm of Harold’s hand.

Reese stood up as well, his face lighting up with relief. Even Shaw was so happy to see Harold that she evacuated his desk chair without the encouragement of his usual sidelong look of annoyance. She moved the laptop and closed the window with the book she’d been reading, knowing that it was stupid that she thought he would somehow know why she was reading the novel but feeling the need to hide it from him all the same.

“You’re back,” John said, smiling down at Finch. Finch sat down in his desk chair, looking exhausted, and Shaw wished there was something she could do for him. The mere fact that this had occurred to her at all brought a surge of annoyance. John started pulling food out of the paper bag and offering it to Finch. “Are you hungry?”

“Tired, mostly,” he told John with a half-hearted, close-lipped smile. John started to put the food down on Finch’s desk and caught himself, apologetically moving it to the little table he’d brought weeks ago now.

“Where’ve you been?” Shaw asked, glad that her voice sounded frustrated instead of concerned. Finch looked at his computer screen, clicking on the tab of the window that Shaw had minimized. The map with Root’s tracking information filled the screen, and he turned stiffly to look at her, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead in question. Shaw looked at him stoically, waiting him out.

“I’ve been quite a few places. I believe I last had contact with you when I was in Japan. The Machine’s reaches are,” Finch paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at the ceiling, “more _extensive_ than I had imagined. It seemed like everywhere we went there were people waiting there for us.”

“We?” Reese asked, his eyebrows pulling upwards but his eyes staying half-closed.

“Daizo travelled with me. We parted ways at Heathrow,” said Finch. Shaw gave Reese a cool smirk.

“You jealous, John?” She asked, and received only a look of dull annoyance before Reese turned his attention back to Harold. Bear was still circling Finch, acting like he had been starved for attention, which he hadn’t been. Shaw had even taken to letting Bear sleep at her feet on the bed. When her dreams were nightmares, it eased the pain she felt upon waking for the dog to be right there, eager to show her affection.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get caught,” Reese said, disapproving. “As I recall, Daizo’s not really trained for this sort of thing.”

Harold nodded a little, then looked back at his computer screen, absent-mindedly scratching behind Bear’s ears.

“Plain City, Utah,” he read the name of the town aloud in his clipped speech, then looked back up at John questioningly. When he saw that John was looking at Sameen, he did the same. “Who are we tracking in Utah?”

Shaw didn’t reply, reaching over to grab some food like she hadn’t heard the question.

“Give you three guesses,” John told Finch, his voice low. “But you won’t need three.”

Finch nodded again, and Shaw opened her food gruffly. John’s words sounded far too close to something that Root would say.

“And why is Miss Groves in a small town in Utah?” he asked, his eyes going to Shaw’s hands, lifting a bite of food to her mouth. She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.

“Why were you in Japan?” Shaw bit back. Harold’s eyebrows raised impossibly higher up his forehead with irritation.

“To track down and plan the destruction of Samaritan’s servers. They may be _concentrated_ here in the US, but their intentions are to turn global,” here he paused, pursing his lips. Both Shaw and Reese were glued to his every word. “I would have called, but it seemed pertinent to stay under the radar given that I was in the metaphorical trenches.”

“That sounds familiar,” said Reese, looking back to Shaw almost apologetically. She had yet to put her food in her mouth, still hovering halfway between the takeout box and her mouth, which had gone dry. Bear was at her feet, staring up at her fork longingly.

“I’m sure that Miss Groves is fine,” Finch reassured her. But Shaw barely heard him.

 _What the hell does he know?_ Shaw thought to herself. She had been right to worry about Harold being in danger. He had been right in Samaritan’s crosshairs. One false move and he could have been discovered. They could have lost him. _She_ could have lost him. Shaw didn’t know if she was thinking of the Machine or of herself. Both thoughts caused a burn in her stomach and a tightness in her chest.

She slowly put the food down on the table, uneaten.

Harold was not the only one who could be lost. Root was still out there. In Plain City, Utah, it seemed.

 _It’s like I’m infected with feelings_ , she thought to herself as her eyes glued to Finch’s face. Her mouth started to open to tell them that she had to go out there and find Root. Help her with whatever it was she was doing.

“She wants you to stay here,” Reese said. Shaw’s gaze turned to him. She felt betrayed by her supposed big brother. “She’ll let you know if she needs help.”

“No. She won’t,” Shaw said. She knew for a fact that Root would never ask her to leave the station if it meant that she’d be in even the slightest amount of danger.

“Perhaps we could talk about this tomorrow? She’s safe for the night,” Harold said, gesturing with his head at the screen. The blip _had_ stopped moving. Shaw greeted the familiar comfort of anger that rose in her at Finch and Reese’s blasé attitude about Root’s safety. But when she looked at Harold and saw how exhausted he looked, she ground her teeth and nodded.

Finch looked from Reese to Shaw, a little smile on his face, and as far as Shaw could tell, it was genuine.

“It’s good to have you back,” John said quietly.

“It’s good to _be_ back,” Harold said. His words were soft. Far less staccato than usual. When he continued, his voice shook with a little uncertain laugh. “I was really beginning to miss home.”

Shaw wanted to hate that this tugged at something in her chest. She wanted to hate the way that John shared his relieved smile with Harold and then with her. Like they were just a happy fucking family. And she wanted to hate the way that she couldn’t stop herself from returning the smile.

Then later, she wanted to hate pushing the cots apart so that Harold could stay in the subway and not have to worry about getting home. And she wanted to hate the fact that John refused to go home, choosing instead to sleep inside the subway car.

When it was dark, Shaw wanted to hate it that Bear insisted on sleeping on the cot with her, and the way that Finch snored quietly. But she didn’t even hate _that_. She didn’t even _mind_ it.

She was glad that the boys were in the subway station.

She only wished that Root was there with them.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for taking the time to read and leave comments and kudos! You guys are great!

The next morning was a Monday, which meant that Reese couldn’t stick around in the station with Finch and Shaw. He had to go to work.

Once he was gone, Finch seemed to know without being told that Shaw needed to be able to keep an eye on Root. The map filled a computer screen, and she appreciated that Harold unplugged the headphones so that the soft rustling from the microphone filled the subway car.

They heard Root and Evans separate, Evans heading off with the Machine’s latest helper, and Shaw found her heart racing at the sound of Root’s voice. Given that she was with Evans all the time, it was surprising how little they actually spoke to one another.

A while later, Sameen had taken to running the length of the platform, the endless back and forth making her slightly light-headed with dizziness. She heard a sudden increase in the amount of noise emitting from Finch’s speakers and slowed to a stop. As Shaw’s breathing calmed, she realized that part of the increase in noise was Root’s own breaths.

It sounded like Root was running, and that worried Shaw because it was unusual. There was a routine that had been established and this was not part of it.

Shaw stepped into the doorway of the subway car and saw that Finch had paused in whatever he was working on. He turned and looked at Shaw questioningly.

“She’s still inside of the building,” he told her. Shaw could tell he was wary of how she might react to this news. She had no idea what that could mean aside from the possibility that Root was in trouble. Shaw’s heart dropped at the thought. And even if she’d left the night before, Shaw _still_ wouldn’t have been there in time.

A few long minutes passed, and then Shaw watched as Finch jumped at the sudden sound of Root’s voice.

“Mike, we need to go,” her voice said, muffled by what Shaw had long-since guessed was the sound of Root’s clothes bumping the medal.

“What happened?” It was the guy who had been helping them at this location. Shaw couldn’t remember his name. Something boring. Mark? Or Charles?

“I saw someone. A woman. I think she was one of them,” Root sounded panicked. Shaw stood up straighter at the worry in the other woman’s voice. Finch’s eyebrows were stuck high on his forehead, his lips pursed.

“One of them? How do you-” This was Evans, cut off by Root.

“Trust me. I know. Carl, you need to lay low. Stay off of their radar. Follow the plan.”

Shaw could tell by the sound of Root’s voice that they were on the move.

Once the rustling had quieted back to its normal level and the blip on the map had retreated back to the motel, Shaw expected to hear from Root.

But no text came.

And Root didn’t call.

Shaw spent hours watching the GPS map. She tracked Root’s progress as she traversed the country. Eventually, Reese returned, and they decided to watch the map in shifts. Harold and John both seemed surprised when Shaw gave the plan her okay.

They didn’t seem to guess right away that she was secretly grateful. This meant she could get some rest if she could force herself to fall asleep. And she fully intended to bust out of the subway station as soon as Reese left the following morning. John might be tough to get around, but she could give Finch the slip easily now that she knew he had a taser. It was as simple as waiting for him to go into the bathroom, or get comfortable at the computer.

And now that Finch was back, she didn’t need to play command center. He was infinitely better at the computer stuff than she was, so really she was just doing everyone a favor by heading after Root. It wasn’t just her being selfish.

The blip that represented Root and Evans finally stopped near Neshkoro, Wisconsin.

Reese was still there at the station. Shaw knew he’d figured out what she might be planning and that made her feel the cloud of malaise descending over her again. She was at a loss.

Finch, Reese, and Shaw were all there in the subway station to hear Root tell Evans he could call Tasha. Shaw had learned by now that this meant she was about to receive a call herself, and felt her stomach twist. She didn’t want to talk to Root with the guys listening.

“Turn off the sound,” Shaw said. The boys both looked at her, confused.

She already had her phone out in her hand when the call came. The phone displayed the ‘Unknown Number’ tag.

“I don’t want her to hear her voice echo,” Shaw said by way of explanation now that they understood that she had known the call was coming. It was a half-truth. Really, she just didn’t want to have Harold and John listening in. She saw the reprimand from Harold before he spoke and conceded. “I’ll put it on speaker.”

She answered the call. The anger towards Finch raged quietly inside of Shaw, dulled by the helpless depression.

“Hi,” Root’s voice was alarmingly small. As if she had passed the level of concern where she was able to hide behind a mask of sarcasm.

“Hey,” Shaw replied. She hated how sad and weak her reply sounded.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.”

Shaw wanted to tell Root to be careful, but she didn’t want the other woman to know that she’d been being watched for weeks. And she didn’t want Harold and John to hear her sound any more vulnerable than she already did.

“You’re awfully quiet. Quieter than usual,” Root said. Shaw swallowed.

“Yeah.” It was all she could muster with Harold’s eyes boring into her.

There was a long pause, and Shaw wished that she could see Root.

“I saw someone yesterday.”

Shaw didn’t reply. Reese shifted his weight, uneasy.

“I think they might know what we’re planning,” Root continued after a beat.

Shaw still didn’t reply. What was there to say? Root had made it clear that she wouldn’t answer any of Sameen’s questions, and Shaw was always cautious about how much she said for fear that Root might figure out that she was being tracked every minute of every day by someone other than the Machine. Plus Harold was still staring at her, looking constipated.

“Sam, I’m scared.”

At this, Shaw felt… too much. She couldn’t name half of the things she was feeling. But she could feel her mouth twisting and turned away from Finch and Reese because she couldn’t fucking bear their eyes on her. Couldn’t bear them knowing that she was torn up inside by the simple fact that Root had said her name and said aloud that she was afraid.

“You shouldn’t be,” Shaw said. She knew that it wasn’t the right thing to say but she didn’t know how else to reply. Root needed to be tough. Ready to keep fighting, not admitting defeat. She was on the battlefield, for fuck’s sake. There wasn’t time to be scared. “This is our job.” 

“I know. But it’s different now.”

Shaw hated that her heart was in her throat.

_It_ is _different now. But you can’t stop. You can’t give up._

“No. It’s not,” Shaw immediately regretted how mean her voice sounded.

_Why did I say that?_ she wondered. _Why am I hurting her? And why do I_ care _if her feelings are hurt? She’s a big girl, she can handle it._

When she ended the call and turned back toward Harold and John, she saw their disappointed expressions and hated that she felt like a puppy tucking its tail between its legs.

“What?” Shaw growled at them. Harold looked away, returning silently to his desk chair. But John just kept looking at her.

_Why does he give a shit?_ Shaw asked herself, channeling all of her anger into shoving past him and exiting the subway car.

He lurked for the rest of the day, and insisted on staying the night. Shaw’s rage burned like acid in her stomach as she laid in bed, and her dreams were fraught with images of Root in danger.

In the early hours of the morning, barely five o’clock, Shaw lurched awake.

A phone was ringing.  
 It took her a few seconds to process this, then she jolted up.

She turned to locate the source. It was hers, sitting near her cot.

She lunged to it, sure that it was Root calling. At least she could talk to her, if she was in trouble. But Shaw felt sick thinking of the implications of this.

She reached the phone and saw that it was an unknown number. Immediately, she hit the button to answer the call.

“Root?” Shaw asked, too worried to be disgusted by the desperation in her voice.

And then, instead of Root’s voice, the Machine started to rattle off numbers in her ear. Shaw hurriedly got up and went to the subway car, scrambling to write them down.

There were three sets.

She hung up the phone when the Machine beeped and then went silent on the other end of the line. She felt simultaneously drained and filled to bursting with despair and something else.

Reese was sleepily sitting up on the bench where he was spending the night, and Finch had come to stand in the doorway. He came to look over her shoulder and started to boot up the computer to research the strings of numbers she’d transcribed.

But Shaw didn’t need to look them up. She knew whose numbers she had receiving. Two of them, anyway. Not because she had them memorized, but because the timing was too spot on. She was only surprised that there were three numbers instead of only hearing two.

“Root and Evans, but who’s the third one?” she asked Finch. He was beginning to type something. “His girlfriend?”

Then a picture of a young Indian woman popped up on the screen.

“Divya Makkar,” Finch read the girl’s name. Because really, she wasn’t a woman. She looked like a college student. Shaw wondered who she was and why her number was included.

Finch looked up the other two and confirmed Shaw’s suspicions. Root and Evans. She swallowed hard, and jerked away when Reese put a hand on her shoulder from behind.

“How long will it take me to get to… Wisconsin?” she asked, looking at the map.

“You can’t-”

“Like hell I can’t,” Shaw snarled at Harold, her temper flaring. “The Machine called _me_. On _my phone_. I won’t be in the city. Samaritan won’t be breathing down my neck once I get out of town.”

“ _If_ you get out of town. They’re going to try to kill you as soon as they spot you on their feeds,” John said. Shaw contemplated this. He was right, of course. She would need to be disguised in order to get past their security cameras.

Her mind was racing, thinking of Root in danger. Shaw found the thought of losing her unbearable. It was hard enough with Root traipsing across the country, virtually unreachable, but if Root died… The Machine would be screwed without Root’s help. Root was too important.

Shaw was startled to find that she thought it was worth the risk of dying herself to prevent the same from happening to Root.

Luckily, she was wrenched out of the confusion of this discovery, because it was the same thought that caused her mind to form an escape route.

“You can take me out in a body bag,” she said, looking up at Reese. His eyes narrowed like he thought she was making a distasteful joke.

“You pretended I was dead once, why not do it again?” she continued, turning to Finch. He didn’t look thrilled. “Get that sad sack- Leon or Leo or whatever his name is. He can take me outside the city and you can meet me with a car and I’ll go after them. You two can stay here, safe and sound in this bunker from hell.”

She had brushed past Finch and was already gathering up some clothes from beside her cot and shoving them into the duffle bag.

“Shaw…” Reese was going to try to convince her to stay. She could tell. He had followed her and was standing facing her in his white undershirt and boxers, his mouth an apologetic grimace.

“Look, Reese. Either you help me out of here, or I’m doing it by myself,” she told him, and knew he could tell she wasn’t bluffing. She lifted the head of the mattress and pulled out the knife that she had threatened him with when he had walked in on Root and herself.

_God, it’s been weeks. And what have I done since then? Nothing. Watched Root._

She saw Finch’s eyebrows raise when he approached and saw that she’d been hiding the knife. _Guess he didn’t hear about that little incident._

But Reese remembered, and the appearance of the knife had driven home how serious Shaw was. She had been so quick to throw herself in front of Root then. And he knew that there was no keeping Shaw in the subway station now.  
Not when Root’s number had come up. Not when the Machine and specifically called Shaw with that information.

“Okay,” Reese said. Shaw found herself smiling at him a little. “Give me a few hours. I’ll get Leon and Lionel to meet us. If we’re going to do this, I want to make sure we do it right. Otherwise we’re all going to get caught. And if we’re all in trouble, _no one_ is going to be able to make it to Root.”

He was right. She _knew_ he was right. But it didn’t make it any easier to sit around, waiting.

It was almost eight in the morning when the sound from the computer picked up, and Shaw listened anxiously to the familiar sounds of Root’s morning routine. By nine, Shaw and Finch heard Root and Evans exiting their vehicle.

The point that represented Root had stopped at the outskirts of Neshkoro when Shaw heard Root start to speak to someone new. She recognized the playful lilt in Root’s voice.

“You know smoking kills?”

“Yeah well… doubt I’m gonna die from lung cancer.”

“Who is that?” Finch asked, looking at Shaw with worry written all over his face. Shaw didn’t know the voice. But it was definitely a female, and Root had definitely turned on the charm, which Shaw didn’t love.

“And why is that?” Root asked.

“Well first of all, I don’t smoke,” the second voice said. It sounded a little surly, and Shaw knew Root was probably enjoying punching the woman’s buttons. _She’s supposed to annoy_ me _like that_ , she thought, and then felt disgusted with herself for feeling something akin to jealousy. Particularly when Root was in danger, possibly from this woman she was speaking to. “I got a message, told me to pick up a pack. Said I should talk to you outside because the threat level is higher than expected. We’re supposed to wait until tomorrow.”

Shaw thought she understood now what was happening.

“I bet she’s one of the Machine’s people,” Shaw said. Finch nodded. “But why wait until tomorrow?”

“Because the Machine knows you’re coming,” Finch said quietly, avoiding looking at her. Shaw saw that he was probably right and her hands clenched into tight fists at her side. Root needed her, and she was just standing around, waiting for John to show up again.

By the end of the conversation between Root and the second person, they confirmed that the woman’s voice belonged to their third number: Divya. Shaw felt angry at Root. She’d tried to convince Divya not to be involved because it was dangerous. Shaw knew that it was too late for that. She could tell just by the Indian girl’s voice.

——————————

She was hauled out of town in a black body bag, on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance that Leon Tao had reluctantly agreed to drive under the condition that she didn’t try to murder him this time. She agreed with a smug smirk.

“Think you could have slung me around a little more?” she asked in annoyance as the bag was unzipped and she saw Leon’s face.

“Oh I’m sorry,” he said, sarcastic. “Next time we’re pretending you’re dead I’ll make sure I bring a limo, princess.”

“What’d you call me?” she asked, swinging her legs down from the gurney and taking a menacing step towards him. He shrank back.

“Ok, woah. Calm down,” he shook his head.

Reese appeared in the open door of the ambulance and put out a hand to help Shaw down. She ignored the gesture and jumped down.

Sameen had never been happier to be outside. Even with snow on the ground and the sky filled with clouds that promised to bring a fresh layer of white powder. Even with the knowledge that she was only outside to try to save Root’s ass. She couldn’t help but smile a little as icy air burned her lungs.

“Lay low. It doesn’t matter that you’ll be in a different state, if Samaritan sees you they’re still going to try to kill you. So keep a distance until you know more, ok?” Reese said. Shaw nodded, annoyed, and slowly took in her surroundings. They’d already been through all of this.

“Shaw,” Reese said. She turned to look at him, zipping up her leather jacket and shoving her hands into the pockets. He was drawn.

“Do me a favor?” he asked. She nodded again and he tried to look something like happy. “Be safe out there.”

She smiled.

“Don’t get soft on me, John,” she told him, reaching out and hitting his arm. His own smile became more genuine and he extended a gun for her. She examined it greedily, excited by the prospect of finally getting some action.

“I packed you some other supplies in the trunk. I’d avoid getting in a wreck. Wouldn’t want you to blow up,” he said. Leon gave him an alarmed look, but Shaw was as close to giddy as she ever got.

With that, she turned to the little black Porsche 911. It wasn’t her top choice for a sports car, but it would certainly do the trick of racing her across the country.

Shaw had a fifteen hour drive ahead of herself. Thirteen if she pushed it, but she’d promised Harold that she wouldn’t speed too much. It would only increase the risk of her being caught.

Fifteen hours until she was in the same town as Root. She swallowed to try to make her throat stop feeling quite so constricted. It didn’t help.

The car accelerated away from New York, the subway station, and their little team. She watched John and Leon shrink in the rearview mirror and then disappear as she turned a corner.

——————————

Shaw had been driving for a few hours and the sky was beginning to get dark when she received a text from Root saying that they were in a holding pattern and asking how she was holding up in the subway station. Now that Shaw was on the move, she felt electric with anger. She sent a quick text in reply asking Root to call her. She wanted desperately to hear the brunette’s voice and to chew her out now that she wasn’t under Finch and Reese’s supervision.

Why couldn’t Root see that she was putting herself in danger? Why couldn’t she be more careful? Why didn’t she get that Shaw needed her to be safe so that she could get back to New York. To Shaw.

_God damn it._ She wanted so much to feel Root against her. To crush their bodies together and sink her teeth into that pale, smooth skin. She wanted to see that irritating, perfect smirk and those ridiculously over-sized eyes that made her heart race and her stomach burn.

It wasn’t long before the cell phone rang and Shaw answered it on the first ring.

“What’s the plan?” Shaw asked, fuming. “You gonna run around from warehouse to warehouse until you get killed? You’re not even _destroying_ them, you’re just putting yourself in enemy territory with a made up name, hoping they don’t shoot you, then running away to the next bad situation.”

“We can’t destroy them yet,” Root told her. Shaw hated how calm Root’s voice sounded. “This isn’t a job for a hammer. Not yet. Right now, all I can do is plant a seed at each facility. All I need is for one worker to doubt their employers.”

“A _seed_?” Shaw growled. How could Root be so stupid? How could she think that this stupid metaphor was enough to win a war. “Root, we need a whole lot more than _one seed_ here. We need the whole god damn _forest_ if we want to win.”

“All it takes is one person to change everything. Every one of those single people at each location? That’s the forest.”

The reply was unsatisfactory. Shaw wished she could grab Root and shake some sense into her.

“Yeah? And what happens when one of those people gets cold feet?” Shaw asked, pausing. “Or gets cut down?”

Shaw was thinking of Divya. Of how Root had tried to convince the girl _not_ to help. But she realized that she couldn’t say anything more pointed if she wanted to keep Root in the dark. And she didn’t want to give Root a chance to tell her to go back to the city and hide.

“Root?” Shaw asked, wondering if Root was still on the other end of the call, because it had been a long couple of seconds and Root hadn’t said anything back.

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Root finally said. Something like guilt grew in Shaw’s chest for making Root’s voice become so small and worried.

——————————

Shaw drove through the night, unrelentingly directing the car towards Root. She drove with the windows down for as long as she could stand the cold, inhaling the winter wind with gusto just because she could. She was so glad to be out of the subway that she hardly felt the nagging draw of sleep and hunger.

It was past two in the morning when she crossed the border into Wisconsin.

The snow on the sides of the road glowed eerily white as she slowed from the highway speed and got closer to the little place where Root, Evans, and Divya were.

Shaw knew exactly where Root and Evans were staying, at the Super Eight in Wautoma, a few miles North of Neshkoro proper. But now, faced with the very real possibility of seeing Root, she suddenly found herself incapable.

She couldn’t explain it. She ached with the need to see Root, but the thought of looking into those brown eyes made her stomach churn unpleasantly. What if things were different now that she was out of her prison? What if whatever it was that they were doing, this thing that they’d avoided naming, simply evaporated once they were apart for so long and and they were both out in the real world.

Instead of lurking outside of the motel, she asked Finch to point her in the direction of Divya’s place.

She stopped the car at the address she’d been given. It was a single-story house with a front porch that might as well have been a snowdrift. A beaten up sedan was parked beside the house in a shoveled drive, and all of the windows were dark.

Shaw sat in the idling sports car, not sure what to do next.

Eventually, she decided to walk around and get a feel for the girl. Shaw had heard her talking about her mother earlier, and guessed now that Divya lived by herself in this house hidden away in a wooded area with no streetlights or neighbors. She didn’t expect to see much of anything, but she was beginning to feel the draw of sleep and the prospect of her feet in the snow and dirt was appealing.

The car door swung shut behind herself, Shaw shoved her hands into her pockets, one cradling the handgun John had given her, and picked her way across the yard, trying as hard as she could to avoid leaving too much of a trail behind her.

There was nothing of interest inside the car in the driveway, so she headed towards the front porch, her footsteps softly crunching in the icy snow accumulated there.

She thought of the muffled sounds she had been hearing periodically through the bug on the Order of Lenin. Some of the sounds had almost certainly been Root’s feet in snow just like this. And when she had called in the evenings, explaining that she’d left Evans inside, she had probably stood outside on nights like this one- clear navy sky above, pristine ivory snow under foot.

Shaw could imagine Root, a hat pulled down over her eyebrows. Those hats she liked to wear always struck Shaw as a little goofy looking, but it was- Cute? Her heart pounded in her chest as she imagined the fog of Root’s breath rising from those beautiful lips, her eyes bright and a cheerful grin on her face as she teased Shaw for something. At the thought of this image that was half-memory, half-daydream, Shaw found herself smiling.

Her throat was so tight it hurt.

_Am I getting sick?_ She took mental note of her body’s state. She was pretty tired, and more than a little cold, but the ache in her throat didn’t seem to be a sign of illness. And anyway, while she was running through a checklist of possible symptoms, the ache had subsided.

She wondered if Root was well and healthy, what with traversing the country in an endless zigzag.

As soon as Root re-entered her mind, her throat tightened again, the ache expanding down into her chest like she was filling with lead and hardening. It wasn’t illness. It wasn’t cold. It was just _Root_ that was making Shaw feel this way.

Sameen paused in the middle of the porch and sniffed against the cold that was making her nose run.

In the pale light of the moon, something moved in the window.

_Shit_.

There wasn’t anywhere for her to hide. She was in the middle of the snowy porch with no trees or furniture or anything else to conceal her dark shape. She hoped that whoever was inside hadn’t noticed her. It was dark enough that that was possible.

She stayed very still for a few seconds, cursing herself.

She had screwed up. _How did I screw up?_ She was out of practice. But it was more than that. Yes, she’d been out of the game for over a month, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that her mind was foggy with thoughts of Root.

She hated Root for messing with her brain like this. No, she realized. She didn’t hate Root. She hated _herself_ , maybe, but not Root.

When there was no other sign that anyone was awake, Shaw started to doubt herself. She retreated back to the car and drove to a motel up the road from where Root and Evans were staying.

Luckily, there was a lazy teenager behind the counter. His peach fuzz beard made him look dirty. He clearly thought it made him look masculine. Shaw was impatient with him before he’d opened his mouth.

“I need a room for a couple of hours,” she told him, surly with sleep deprivation. He raised his eyebrows and smirked at her. She gave him a threatening look that made him hurry through the check-in process as quickly as he could.

She laid down on top of the bed spread, exhausted and pissed that she was in a holding pattern again and that she couldn’t sleep in the strange place. It was too quiet. There was no low hum like there was in the subway station. Plus, she could feel a strange, almost magnetic pull. Like her body knew that Root was nearby.

_God, I’m stupid_ , she thought to herself, rolling onto her side to stare at the faded curtains.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait on this chapter! Hopefully it was worth the wait.
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments! You're all very kind and it means a lot to me to hear from you.

Shaw curled her hands around her cup of coffee, no longer particularly warm between her fingers. She’d been staking out the building from the parking lot for over an hour, and although Divya had shown up fifteen minutes earlier, there was no sign of Root or Evans, and the cold had seeped into her bones. She’d broken into a car a half hour earlier because she was concerned that standing outside in the snow indefinitely might lead to frostbite. Then she’d be pretty useless. And she’d ditched the Porsche out of the fear that Divya had perhaps seen it outside her house the night before. Her new mode of transportation didn’t exactly provide protection from the elements, not that the car she was currently sitting in was much better.

The sudden motion of Divya, turning and grinding her cigarette into an ashtray, caught Shaw’s attention. She followed the girl’s gaze out across the parking lot and realized she’d missed the arrival of another car. And exiting the driver’s seat was Root.

Root. She was there. Right there.

She crossed the parking lot quickly, Evans in tow.

Shaw put the cup of coffee into the cup holder blindly and leaned forward a little.

Shaw found herself sitting up straighter in the driver’s seat of the stolen car, eagerly watching the strides of Root’s long legs. She had to fight the urge to jump out of the driver’s seat and tell Root to turn around and just go back to the hotel. To let Shaw take care of this one. To let Shaw burn this place to the ground and then meet her back in the hotel room so she could crush her lithe body. _A dancer’s body_ , Shaw idly thought to herself, and then wondered where that assessment had come from. Shaw knew nothing about dancers’ bodies. She sneered at herself and refocused.

Root looked worn out, and Sameen could tell the taller woman was putting on a show of being playful and unconcerned. Despite her lighthearted demeanor, her shoulders were high and tight with anxiety. When she reached out and touched Evans’ arm with a lighthearted smile, Shaw could see even from a distance that Root was worried and felt sorry for him. He looked much worse off than Root did.

But what surprised Shaw most was that she somehow felt both a sharp pain in her chest and an unnamable lightness when she looked at the woman across the parking lot. She again suppressed the urge to get out of the car and stop Root.

She just watched as Root, Evans, and Divya entered the building, then called Finch.

“You got anything for me?” she asked as she got out of the car. Her eyes burned in the winter wind, and she had to remind herself that this was what she had wanted. She’d begged to go outside and now she was worried about getting frostbite. Honestly, while it wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for, it was still infinitely better than the subway station.

“I received an email from the Machine that contained an encoded map of the building that Ms. Groves just entered,” Finch said. Shaw checked the pockets of her black leather jacket. She had two bricks of explosives, courtesy of Reese, and two guns, one of which was tucked into the back of her jeans, the other clutched in her hand. It was too large to hide.

“Any way for me to get inside without being seen? I’m not sure they’re going to let me in the front door with a submachine gun,” she told him, a smirk on her face because she knew he would be squirming with her words.

“Perhaps you could consider a concealable weapon?” he asked. She looked down at her weapon of choice, giddy with the thought of getting to shoot someone with it soon. It was the FN P90TR she’d kept under her makeup counter. Martine may have escaped its wrath once, but if she was in the building today, Shaw would be sure to at the very least shoot the blonde in the knee for making the Machine’s little crew send Shaw into hiding.

“No, I don’t think I can,” Shaw replied, her voice dark. She headed towards the entrance. “If you don’t tell me a different way in, I’m plowing straight in the front doors.”

Finch, of course, rerouted her.

“Where am I headed?” she asked Finch when she had gotten inside undetected. He didn’t reply.

She started to poke her head into the first few rooms and grabbed a white lab coat, figuring she might as well _try_ to look like she fit in. It would be useless to enter the fray and then immediately get shot. Then Root wouldn’t have any backup.

“Finch?” she asked.

When he spoke, his words were thick with apprehension.

“The Machine wants you to plant the explosives on the basement level and then wants you to find and help Miss Makkar and Mr. Evans,” Finch said. Shaw’s step faltered.

“What about Root?”

“The Machine didn’t say anything about Ms. Groves,” Finch told her, trying to keep his voice professional. Shaw didn’t bother pretending this didn’t infuriate her.

“Tell your Machine that if She wants me to keep going, I need to know that Root’s ok,” Shaw snarled. She knew there wasn’t time to waste, but she needed to know that the Machine was keeping an eye on Root.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Finch replied, and Shaw didn’t like the scolding, almost sarcastic tone in his voice. It was like he didn’t believe that it would make a difference to the Machine that Shaw felt the way she did. And for some reason, that was both annoying and foolish to Shaw. The Machine had listened when John had said something quite similar about Harold once. Why would this be any different?

Finch acted as a long distance GPS for Shaw, telling her when and where to turn. She used air ducts for quite a distance to pass a cluster of Samaritan operatives.

“All right, Finch. Explosives are set. I have five minutes,” she told him as she stood from planting the two bricks she’d been carrying.

“This is where things get a bit more… complicated,” he told her. She didn’t love the sound of that. “I’m sending you directions.”

“Connect me to Root’s audio,” she commanded.

“I don’t know that that’s the best-”

“Do it, or I stop doing what you tell me to do and I go looking for her right now.”

It took a minute, but then she was connected.

“Call me Root.” The sound of the taller woman’s voice, defiant and sharp, was welcome. But Shaw was surprised that she was speaking to someone.

“I’ll call you anything you like,” said a voice with a British accent. Shaw placed Lambert immediately. Cold fear raced through her veins. Unwanted but unmistakable. Why was Root talking to him? What had she gotten herself into?

Shaw followed Finch’s instructions, weaving through the maze of hallways for a short distance. As she walked, she caught fragments of the conversation between Lambert and Root.

“What is it that you plan to _do_?” from Lambert, so unappealingly slick.

“Whatever it takes to put this to bed.” That reply filled Shaw with rage.

 _What the fuck is she doing, flirting with him?_ Shaw wondered. She welcomed the anger this brought. She could use anger to her advantage. It was certainly better than fear.

When she rounded a corner, she found herself face to face with Evans and Divya, who immediately hauled Evans behind herself and pointed a gun straight into Shaw’s face.

“I’m here to help. You’ve already done your set-up, right? We need to get out of here,” Shaw explained, her temper short with the barrel of a gun inches from the bridge of her nose. Divya shook her head with a sneer that was a little too familiar for comfort. Shaw recognized it as an expression that regularly appeared on her own face.

“You were outside my house last night. What, all your fucking cameras weren’t enough? Now I’ve got actual _people_ watching me too?” Divya asked, shifting her grip on the gun. Shaw grabbed the gun and whipped Divya’s arm out, twisting her wrist. Evans stepped back, his own gun pointing shakily at Shaw. She knew he wouldn’t shoot her. Once she’d strong-armed the handgun out of Divya’s hand, she pointed it at Evans and Divya.

“I’m with Root,” she told them both. Evans looked hesitantly reassured but Divya was not the least bit convinced. So Shaw directed her next comment at Evans alone. “I’m the one she’s been calling when you’re on the phone with Tasha.”

She knew that she had Evans at least half-convinced. But Divya was another story. She didn’t have a weapon anymore but she was just as fiercely angry as before.

“You gonna shoot us? Then _shoot us_ ,” Divya said.

“Please don’t shoot me,” Evans interjected. Shaw reached out and grabbed Evans’ elbow.

“I’m not shooting either of you unless you shoot me first,” she said, turning him around to walk the same direction she herself had been heading.

“I’m not going with you,” Divya said. Shaw took a deep breath.

“You’re going to get killed if you stay here unarmed.”

“I’m going to get killed if I _trust you_. I know how this works. You act like you’re helping me and then you twist my words around and use me to get whatever it is you want. You people are disgusting,” Divya said. She was unwilling to back down, and Shaw was about to lose what little patience she had.

Through the ear piece, Shaw heard Root say, practically fucking purring, “I have a few tricks left. I think you’ll be impressed.” 

Shaw released Evans and reached out for Divya, who ducked away, trying to run back the way Shaw had come.

“Don’t go that way,” Shaw angrily yelled, racing after the college-aged girl down the next sterile hallway.

Too late. The explosion not far off in the building shook it to its foundations. Divya had been half the length of the hallway ahead and Shaw watched as ceiling tiles and Divya fell. She ran towards the girl, who did not get up.

“Evans, get over here,” Shaw yelled as she rolled the girl over. Divya had passed out and was just coming to, looking very disoriented.

Evans was at Shaw’s side, nervously fidgeting.

“Grab her other arm. Samaritan’s going to be here any second. We need to get out of here. We were supposed to be further away by the time that thing went off,” she explained. Sirens were going off within the building. Fire alarms, she realized.

“What happened to her?” Evans asked breathlessly.

“She must’ve hit her head,” Shaw replied, giving her head a quick once-over. There wasn’t any sign of blood, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have gotten a concussion. When Divya realized who had a hold of her she started to struggle.

“No, get off of me,” she said, her words slow and soft, her hands ineffectual as she pushed at Shaw, who disconnected from Root’s audio and reconnected to Finch.

“Finch, we need help getting out of here. The girl passed out,” Shaw told him. He sputtered a reply that she didn’t hear.

“Help me get her up,” Shaw commanded, and Evans nodded, fumbling to help Shaw lift Divya up. It annoyed Shaw that the girl was an inch or so taller than she herself was. _Stupid kid._

A few Samaritan agents rounded the corner ahead of them and before any of them could say anything, Shaw had shot them and they crumpled.

The trio had made it almost all the way to the exit when another group of operatives appeared. In the frenzy of gunfire, Shaw tried to keep Divya and Evans out of the way. When she pushed Divya into Evans’ arms for him to support her weight, he stumbled and Divya, mostly awake, tried to flail her arms to regain her balance.

Shaw knew the girl had caught a bullet to the shoulder without more than a cursory glance in her direction. She could tell by the outcry from the girl and from the way that Evans was now simply repeating the words “Oh god. Oh god.”

“Ms. Shaw?” Harold’s voice was in her ear. He’d been guiding them back out through the maze but he was so nervous that he had stayed mostly silent aside from brief directions.

“What?” she hissed at him, returning fire at the operatives.

“There are EMTs entering the building from behind you. I think it would be best to leave Ms. Makkar and Mr. Evans with them and for you to _carefully_ draw Samaritan’s people away from them,” he said, his words stiff.

“The girl got shot,” Shaw told him as she did what he’d asked.

“She needs a doctor,” Harold confirmed.

“Any sign of Root?” Shaw asked as she shot down another of Decima’s agents. Harold was quiet for a minute.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he told her finally.

“I’m going to go and find her,” Shaw said, turning to head back deeper into the building.

“No, Ms. Shaw-” she had already disconnected.

_Screw this. I’m not just going to leave her here._

Her phone started to ring in her pocket. This was a surprise, because Finch’s calls normally came directly to her earpiece. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered the call, ready to tell him off.

There was a long tone.

“Can. You. Hear. Me?” Shaw’s heart leapt into her throat. It wasn’t Finch. It was the Machine.

“Yeah. Where am I headed?” Shaw replied. She stopped walking down the hall, terrified of what was coming.

——————————

Root pushed the door of the building open, planning to slip away in the commotion.

Her brain felt rattled, and all she could hear was the echo of Shaw’s words from weeks ago, when she’d been shot in the arm and cried and Shaw had been surprisingly comforting.

_You’re ok. You’re ok. You’re ok. You’re ok._

Down and down and around in her head with each beat of her heart, spinning into darkness but she was reassured every time the words repeated and she thought of Shaw’s hands and mouth on her.

She was alive. She was ok.

And strangely, she felt like Shaw was close by. As if at any moment, Sameen would turn up with a gun in her hand and a look of determination on her face.

Root turned down the sidewalk as if she was going to the other end of the parking lot, and took a deep breath, hoping desperately that the sound of the rumbling motor approaching from behind her didn’t belong to Samaritan’s goons.

She pushed her hand into her coat pocket, gripping Lambert’s gun tight. The engine’s purr slowed and quieted as what sounded like a motorcycle pulled close to the curb.

“Get on.”

Root turned, her heart lodged in her throat, and saw a black helmet. The dark-tinted visor was pushed up and Root saw that her ears had not deceived her.

“Sameen?” she said, unable to fully grasp the fact that _Shaw_ was sitting on the dark blue bike.

“ _Get on_ ,” Shaw repeated harshly, holding a second helmet out. Root took the helmet from her hands, taking in the black leather jacket, black jeans, black boots. She watched as Shaw flipped the visor back down to cover her eyes.

Root was frozen. Because Shaw was really there. And she looked really good on that motorbike. Shaw flipped the vizor back up, impatient.

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw said. Finally, Root became unstuck, and climbed on behind Shaw, shoving the helmet onto her head. Sameen had already started to move, and Root found herself wrapping her arms around Shaw’s waist tight. Once they were out on the road, driving straight on the two-lane motorway, Root held on tighter. Not because she feared falling off, but because her eyes were burning with tears inside of the helmet as her mind raced with questions.

Somehow, Shaw had found her.

And somehow, Shaw knew where Root and Evans had been staying. And when they slowed to a stop in the nearly-empty parking lot, Root stayed dumb-founded while Shaw rifled through the pockets of the taller woman’s jacket, not looking Root in the eye as she pulled out Lambert’s handgun, unfazed by its presence, then eventually found the key to the room.

Root forgot to enjoy having Shaw’s hands in her pockets. She just kept looking down at the grim expression on the face of the shorter woman who wouldn’t make eye contact. She looked paler than Root remembered, and there were dark circles under her eyes like she hadn’t slept.

“What’s the room number?” Shaw asked. Root blinked and led the way to the motel room in a daze. Shaw unlocked the door and walked inside, letting Root numbly follow her.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Shaw’s eyes snapped up to meet Root’s.

Despite the fact that she looked exhausted and worse for wear, Shaw’s eyes lit up when they met Root’s.

“How are you here?” Root asked with a voice that shook more than she’d have liked. “You’re supposed to be staying safe.”

“So are you,” Shaw replied, her eyes darkening again, and Root recognized the thinly suppressed rage in the shorter woman’s voice. It suddenly clicked in Root’s mind that Divya and Evans hadn’t been the ones who set off the explosion in Samaritan’s base. It was _Shaw_. That the need to shut off the security feeds was so that _Shaw_ wasn’t spotted by Samaritan.

“Why did you come? You could have gotten _killed_ , Sam,” Root said, her throat so tight that her voice had to force its way out of her, increasingly loud.

“I came to help _you_ stay alive,” Sameen said back, jabbing one finger at Root, her other hand a tight fist at her side.

“You _can’t_ help,” Root said, desperation making her eyes burn again as she took a step towards Shaw. She wanted to grab the front of the shorter woman’s leather jacket and shake her. “She wanted you to stay there where you wouldn’t get found-”

“No, Root. The Machine doesn’t want that. _You_ wanted me to stay hidden,” Shaw replied furiously, cutting Root off. Root shook her head.

“Of _course_ I want you to stay hidden,” Root said, the words rushing out of her, panicked. She turned, looking straight into her open laptop’s camera when she asked, “Is she in danger?”

Shaw turned away in irritation, putting her hands on her head.

The Machine replied in Root’s ear. She said to wait until seven that evening, to take Shaw to the parking bay outside of A&E. License plate 0020. Root was to go to the third floor, follow a specific path that She had already routed for her, and find room 302. Root hated the Machine for avoiding the question.

“How did you know where we were?” Root asked Shaw again. Shaw didn’t reply, still facing away. It occurred to Root that Finch must have come back. Root’s anger was burning a hole through the lining of her stomach. “Did Finch let you come?”

“Don’t you get it? I am _not_ the only one who knows that one of these days you’re going to get yourself killed,” Shaw snarled, spinning back to look at Root. She paused, her dark eyes like eclipses, so furious that Root had the old familiar sensation of her stomach tightening in fear. Shaw was a wild card. Dangerous.

“And I would rather die _with_ you,” Shaw continued, the words bitter and harsh, her mouth twisted into a scowl, “Than _live_ without you.”

Root was so surprised that the hair on the back of her neck prickled and raised. She didn’t know what to say. It was an undeniably sweet thing to say- so much so that if anyone else had said it, Root would have cringed. But coming from Shaw, in a mix of fury and disgust, the words only left Root in a state of disbelief. She no longer wanted to shake Shaw, she wanted to shove her into the wall and kiss the sneer from her lips.

Shaw wished she hadn’t let the words escape from her. She hadn’t thought about what she was saying until it was already tumbling out, unstoppable. Root’s expression had softened.

“If you die, Samaritan will win- it’ll only be a matter of time. And if that happens, we _all_ die,” Shaw continued, still pissed. Root felt the warmth in her chest from Shaw’s previous comment, and refrained from pointing out that Samaritan would probably win either way.

They stood looking at one another for a long minute.

And then simultaneously, they grabbed for one another and their lips collided, a glancing blow before they microscopically recalculated and their lips finally met, crushing against their teeth with the force of their desperation.

Shaw knocked Root’s hands away from the black leather jacket and unfastened it with a quick tug on the zipper, fighting out of the sleeves. Root’s hands found Shaw’s face, refusing to allow the shorter woman to break their mouths apart, and was pleased when Shaw’s teeth nipped at her lip.

Shaw paused only long enough to pull the Order of Lenin from around Root’s neck. They looked at one another, and then Shaw tossed it to the nearby table, where it skittered to a stop beside the laptop. Hopefully Finch wasn’t listening now.

This all felt familiar to Shaw, in a way. She was, like she had been weeks ago, angry beyond belief. And she was finally being able to touch the woman who had been frustrating her for far too long.

When she shoved Root backwards and watched her tumble onto the bed, Shaw felt her lips tugging into a mean smile. She remembered the fear and arousal on Root’s face over a month ago when she’d brought Shaw a bag of clothes from her cover’s apartment. When Shaw had knocked her into the bed so she’d lost her balance. When Shaw had closed her fingers around that pale, smooth throat and watched Root calculate how much force it would take to dislodge Shaw.

But Root hadn’t shoved Shaw away then and she wasn’t shoving the shorter woman away now.

She was letting Shaw press hard kisses across her jaw to her neck, where Shaw closed her teeth on Root’s throat, delighting in the sharp inhale of breath. She heavily rested her body on top of Root’s, wishing that they were both undressed.

When Shaw sucked hard on the patch of skin, teeth clamping tight, Root sighed under her teeth, her entire body vibrating with the pleasure of pain.

 _Mine,_ Shaw’s brain was chanting. _You’re mine. Mine. Mine._

She sucked harder. Bit more firmly. Without ever consciously deciding it was what she wanted to do, Shaw was very intentionally marking her territory. Leaving a dark, harsh bruise because Root was _hers_ , damn it.

It became clear to Root after a minute that Sameen wasn’t going to let up on her neck, and she pulled on Shaw’s hair to make her stop. Shaw did briefly, a smug smirk on her face as she looked Root in the eye and then down at Root’s neck, dipping her head to the same point on Root’s throat and biting down sharply again. Root shuddered in pleasure but wasn’t sure that she wanted to be marked too severely so she removed her hand from Shaw’s hair to wrap her fingers around Shaw’s neck, a gentle warning.

Shaw understood the warning and stopped, gave the sore spot a kiss, and reached up to touch it.

Root could tell that Shaw was pleased with herself and kept her fingers around Shaw’s throat. From the way that Shaw was touching Root’s neck and by the little smirk on her face, Root knew that she would have a lasting bruise to show for Shaw’s ministrations.

“A hickey? Seriously? What are you, a middle school boy?” Root teased, kissing Shaw but hoping the mark was low enough that she would be able to conceal it from everyone. She wondered what the Machine would think of it. Or if She would notice. This last thought made her stomach churn. Of course She would notice. The question should have been if She would _acknowledge_ it in some way.

“Just a little reminder,” Shaw said with a smug smirk that almost concealed how frustrated she was. Root tilted her head playfully. The flash in Shaw’s dark eyes made the burn in Root’s stomach more pronounced. “You’re _mine_.”

“I didn’t realize I belonged to anyone,” Root teased. It surprised Root that Shaw was being possessive. Shaw’s gaze darkened, and her eyes flitted away from Root’s face, up towards the table, where the laptop was open and half-facing them beside Root’s sidearm and the Order of Lenin. Following the shorter woman’s gaze, Root realized that Shaw was not just thinking of herself, she seemed to be thinking of _Her_. It was difficult to keep her tone lighthearted when she next spoke. “Are you jealous of the Machine?”

Root regretted her scolding, disbelieving tone when Shaw’s eyes were immediately back on her face. She looked angry and, for a brief moment, unsure of herself.

 _No_ , Shaw thought to herself. _Yes, but no._

She had been thinking of Lambert. That asshole who Root had been flirting with.

“I heard you talking to your new British friend,” Shaw said, pupils and irises equally dark, the familiar blend of fury and lust clear in the pull of her eyebrows. Her pursed lips. Root’s eyebrows raised.

“How did you…?” Root started, and could tell by the way that Shaw’s expression remained unchanged that she wasn’t going to get an answer to the question she hadn’t finished asking. She shook her head. “He’s _Decima_. The only way he’s a threat to you is if he _catches_ you. Because if _that_ happens, he’s going to kill you.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Shaw spat out, her irritation palpable between them. Root pursed her lips. Of course Shaw said she wasn’t afraid of Lambert. And maybe she really wasn’t. But her anger at the slick way that Lambert had spoken to Root was enlightening.

Root wasn’t sure if Shaw’s jealousy was more annoying or arousing, but decided that with Shaw it was better to steer her away from a bad mood with the promise of a good time than to try to talk her out of being petulant. Root leaned in so that her lips brushed Shaw’s ear when she spoke.

“Then why don’t you cut it out with the temper tantrum and kiss me,” Root whispered, her fingers grazing Shaw’s hips where her shirt was riding up.

Shaw didn’t need to be told twice.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than the last couple! Hopefully you all enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to all of you for reading and all of the comments and kudos! As always, it makes my day to hear even the shortest note from you guys.

The contact of Root’s finger tips against her bare skin caused the fire in Shaw to burn hotter, and she scrambled against the fly of Root’s pants, clawing at the button and zipper. She didn’t want to stop kissing Root- their mouths could have been soldered together and Shaw wouldn’t mind. But it only made it more difficult to struggle with Root’s clothes.

She finally got the pants disentangled from Root’s legs and tossed them to the side where they hit a bag on the desk chair, causing it to fall to the floor. Shaw glanced briefly in the direction of the sound and saw men’s shoes and clothes.

They were Mike’s. Shaw took a deep breathe and tried to back away.

“Are we- uh,” she struggled to form a coherent sentence, her entire body alive with the need and want to touch and kiss and bite every inch of Root that she possibly could but she knew she should pause for a moment. Despite the fact that she’d sat back, trying to clear the smoke from her mind, her hands drifted up Root’s sides.

Root was disappointed by Shaw sitting up. It only made it worse when Shaw’s hands left her sides as well.

Suddenly the shorter woman had pulled away from her when it had seemed like they were finally going to be connected again. And that made Root wonder, not for the first time, if she’d miscalculated. Had Shaw decided it would be better not to start their relationship again- if it could be called a relationship at all?

“Aren’t we supposed to be finding Evans and that girl?” Shaw finally asked, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck as she sat back, clearing her throat.

They made eye contact and Root saw disappointment in Shaw’s eyes. Sameen didn’t want to stop. She was just thinking of the mission.

“We’ve got a couple of hours,” she told Shaw, reassured by Shaw’s expression. She was met with a broad smile, tinged with angry excitement.

“You sure?” Shaw asked. Root sat up so that Shaw was straddling her lap and pulled at Shaw’s shirt demandingly.

“Yes. I’m sure,” she breathed into Shaw’s open mouth. Then Shaw kissed her roughly again as Root’s hands tugged Shaw’s hips close against hers.

Sameen tore at Root’s shirt, followed it with her own, and then shoved the taller woman back against the mattress once they were both free.

Shaw wondered fleetingly if Root had missed her.

_Can she tell how much it hurt to be away from her? Can she tell how much it bothers me that it hurts at all?_ Shaw asked herself.

Root wasn’t sure why Shaw had paused again. The shorter woman had her pinned to the bed and was hovering above her, those dark eyes searching her face. Her mouth started to open like she was going to speak. But instead of saying anything, Shaw’s mouth closed again and her lips pursed. She bent her head and kissed Root’s bruised throat roughly.

Root was impatient to feel more of Sameen, and tried to roll them over so that she was on top, but the shorter woman pinned her down hard against the mattress and gave her a little pleased smirk before she began to trail kisses down Root’s chest and eventually, between her thighs. As usual, it was like she knew exactly what Root had been thinking.

Root didn’t last long with Shaw’s dark hair tumbling across her thighs, that mouth and those fingers working her over with perfect, desperate efficiency. Shaw didn’t slow down until Root finished twisting under her and rolled past wave after wave of her orgasm.

Reaching out, Root pushed Sameen’s hair to one side with clammy hands to get a look at the woman’s face. Her Persian complexion so lovely and perfect as she looked up at Root affectionately and placed a gentle kiss on her inner thigh.

Root gently urged Shaw back up to meet her in another kiss, then pushed the shorter woman’s hips into the mattress to roll on top of her, unable to wait to watch Sameen lose her hard edge and come apart.

As Root broke their kiss and started to work her way down between Shaw’s legs, Sameen thought back to the first time they’d done this.

When Shaw had first kissed Root, she’d honestly expected the taller woman to shove her away.

It wasn’t really that Shaw thought Root wasn’t interested in women- Shaw had watched her flirt with just about everyone she encountered in that weird, almost condescending way that Root seemed to have mastered. But that was just it: Root was a tease. A flirt. She liked manipulating people’s emotions, and she was good at it.

She’d manipulated _Shaw’s_ emotions. Time and time again. First just anger. But then eventually, Root easily drew numerous emotions from Shaw. Excitement, concern, fear… even something warm. Good. Unnamable and unbidden. It got hotter and hotter when they were together, and made Shaw’s chest and gut burn fiercely. It was more violent in its heat than drinking mouthfuls of whiskey straight from the bottle.

So yes, Shaw had thought in their first encounter that Root would stop her when she finally decided that Root had gone too far with her seductive tones and teasing innuendos. That day in the subway station, Shaw had been embarrassed, almost, when she admitted that she was being an asshole to everyone because she was bored being stuck in the subway station. It had taken _effort_ for her to admit it to Root.

And then that fucking smirk twisted Root’s red lips.

“If you wanted to be entertained, all you had to do was ask.”

Shaw had wanted to punch her in the teeth when Root spoke those words, reached out, and touched her shoulders. But instead, she’d decided that it was time to permanently shut Root up.

She’d grabbed a fistful of Root’s jacket in each hand and pulled them together. Hard. Their mouths connected and Shaw had realized belatedly that even though she had done it just to make Root stop trying to make her uncomfortable with her innuendo all the time, now that they were kissing she didn’t want to stop.

That hadn’t been the plan.

She’d pulled back as suddenly as she kissed Root. Absorbed the breathless, starry-eyed look on Root’s face. It was satisfying to see that Root was dumbfounded.

Shaw had waited for Root’s brain to catch up to her. Waited for Root to push her away.

But instead of pushing Shaw away, one of Root’s hands snaked around to tangle her fingers in the hair at the nape of Shaw’s neck. And it was Root that started to pull their faces gently together again.

That was enough of a ‘go ahead’ as Shaw needed. She’d wrenched them together again, her hands in fists on Root’s jacket so tight that she could feel her heartbeat in her palms. It was like the kiss had broken the dam, and now Shaw was flooded with need that she hadn’t been aware was so great until it was upon her like a tidal wave.

And now, weeks later, Root was exhaling hot breath and making circles with her tongue and god damn it if sex with this woman was not the best sex Shaw had ever had. And it wasn’t just that Root had somehow figured out _exactly_ what to do when without being told or shown like Shaw usually had to do with her partners. Or that Root seemed more than happy to take whatever Shaw threw her way and could give back just as much.

No. Sex with Root was better because _everything_ was better with Root. Shaw craved the sound of Root’s voice. Enjoyed the warmth of Root’s body against her in bed. Looked forward to the scent of her- not just the liquid heat between her thighs, but the general smell of her that lingered cool and sweet beneath her shampoo. Wanted to kiss the stupid, arrogant, perfect smile off of Root’s face.

Honestly, she had hoped that sex with Root was only great because it was improved by the fact that it was something to look forward to while Shaw was stuck in the subway. It would be easier to cope with all these feelings she had if there was a namable reason that this woman mattered. But now, free from the subway hideout, looking down at the soft rings of hair framing those gigantic doe eyes that were gazing from between her thighs up at her, down into her, knowing her… this was somehow, impossibly, even _better_. She watched the gleam of a smile emerge in Root’s eyes and the woman between Shaw’s legs shifted her actions almost imperceptibly.

“Root,” the name escaped in a little exhale at the same moment that Sameen’s fingers curled into a fist in that silky brown hair as she lost control, her toes curling and her entire body flexing and tightening.

_Shit_ , Shaw thought as she finally started to relax again, recovering from the ecstasy of sensory overload. _I did it again. I said this woman’s name. I fucking_ whimpered _it._

She put an arm across her eyes in embarrassment.

After a beat those slender fingers wrapped around her wrist to uncover her face. Shaw let her arm be moved and opened her eyes to see a teasing, playful look from Root, hovering close. Sameen started to scowl at the expression on Root’s face but was interrupted by a kiss. Slow and deep and maybe it wasn’t so bad to say Root’s name if this was the response.

Shaw was relieved that Root didn’t seem inclined to say anything about hearing her own name. She just rested half on top of Sameen, the weight of her body on Shaw’s side warm and reassuring, and Shaw draped her arm across Root’s bare shoulders comfortably, letting her eyes drift shut.

Suddenly she was hit by just how tired she was. She’d been running in top gear for hours upon hours without much sleep and despite the bad situation that they were in, Root’s presence somehow equated safety to Sameen’s sleep-deprived brain. She knew it was faulty, dangerous logic. Knew that she should try to fight the sudden calm. But before she could move to get up and shake the tiredness off of herself, Root’s long fingers started to run lightly over her chest and stomach, and the steady rhythm of Root’s breathing sent Shaw to sleep.

——————————

Root stayed on top of Sameen for a long time, listening to her breathing become slower and deeper. When she eventually propped herself up on one elbow to look down at Shaw, Root couldn’t help but smile. She had rarely gotten to see Shaw sleep before, and never had she been so sure that the shorter woman needed the rest.

Looking down at her, Root was overcome with joy that Shaw was there. Now, looking at the open mouth and listening to the soft snoring, it was easy to forget all of the terrible things gathering like storm clouds around them, threatening hurricanes and gale force winds at every possible opportunity. It was easy, for the moment, to focus on the naked woman beside her, skin warm and smooth, so comfortable and exhausted that she had been out like a light within minutes of having an orgasm.

Root wished that she could stay in that moment longer. But she knew that the Machine might not be able to communicate with them once they were on the move, and that meant that Root herself should have a firm knowledge of the layout of the places they were going to have to go to try to save Mike and Divya.

She got up from the mattress and found her clothes, then went into the bathroom to quietly dress.

Looking into the mirror, Root saw that the bruising on her throat was dark and mottled already. She covered the mark with her hand and then looked at it again. She wanted to feel annoyed by Shaw’s jealousy, but all she could bring herself to feel was pleased that they were together again.

She left the bathroom and picked up the laptop, then turned back to look at the bed.

Shaw was fast asleep on top of the unmade double bed, unabashedly naked.

Root slid back onto the mattress beside her. When she saw that there were goosebumps covering Shaw’s chest, she pulled the blankets up over them both, tucking them over her own lap before she began to type on the laptop.

——————————

Shaw awoke to someone stroking her hair. She swatted at the hand impatiently before her brain clicked into gear and she realized that it must belong to Root.

“We need to go soon,” Root’s voice confirmed Shaw’s suspicion.  
 “How long was I asleep?” Shaw asked, one eye screwed shut against the light from a streetlamp pouring in the window, the other squinting up at Root’s face, glowing blue in the light of her computer screen. She had the laptop balanced on her raised knees and had withdrawn the hand that Shaw batted away.

“A couple of hours,” Root replied softly, reaching out to touch Sameen’s hair again when the sleepy woman winced and turned her face away.

Shaw turned back to look at Root at the contact and slipped a hand under the covers to find Root’s thigh, frowning a little when her hand met denim instead of skin.

“You’re dressed.”

“I had some work to do,” Root told her, half playful and half apologetic. Shaw pressed the thumb and pointer finger of her other hand into her eyes, rubbing at them as if that would help clear her mind.

She sat up and caught Root appreciatively watching the sheets fall away from her chest as she turned and swung her legs off the side of the bed, glancing around tiredly for her clothes.

Root looked at Shaw’s vertebrae, standing out in the middle of her back, as the woman slumped forward. Her tiredness concerned Root, who couldn’t help but wonder what Shaw had done to find her. How had she known where to go? Root hadn’t said what state she was in, much less what hotel she was staying at. She put the computer aside and shifted closer.

Shaw could hear Root moving behind her, and then a cold hand ran down her spine. It moved around her waist to her stomach as lips gently pressed into her shoulder.

“You should’ve woken me up. I could’ve helped you get things done,” Shaw said, head hanging forward.

“Mmm,” Root mumbled against Shaw’s trapezius. “Seemed like you needed the sleep.”

Shaw yawned as if on cue, and Root turned her face to kiss Sameen’s throat.

“How did you know where I was?” Root asked. She could feel Shaw stiffen and almost wished she hadn’t asked. Almost.

Shaw stood up, Root’s arm falling from around her waist. Root watched the muscles in her back move as Shaw picked up her bra and hooked it behind herself, then grabbed her shirt and pulled it on over her head. She grabbed her underwear and pants and as she slid the black denim up over her thighs she turned back to Root, who was still looking for an answer.

“I’m good at finding people,” Shaw said, failing to mask her impatience with her terse words.

“If _you_ found me, _they_ can find me,” Root told her. Shaw walked over to the dresser, hesitating before picking up her handgun from beside the Order of Lenin medal, then checking that the gun was loaded and ready to go.

“No, they can’t,” Shaw told her, shoving the gun into the back of her pants, then turning around again to look at Root.

“Where are we heading?” Shaw asked. Root swallowed hard, worried about what was coming next and worried about whatever it was that Shaw didn’t want to tell her.

“The hospital,” Root replied.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow you guys! I can't apologize enough for how long you've waited for this chapter! I love writing this and you _will_ get this story in full, but unfortunately when things get busy I can't justify working on this over other things. I've also been having a hard time writing this chapter because there were so many short scenes that needed to occur that are much more plot-driven than they are character development. For whatever reason I find that very difficult to write!

Root and Shaw entered the ambulance bay outside of Accident and Emergency. Root couldn’t shake the feeling that Shaw was too tired to be involved in whatever heist they were about to pull. She also had a nagging suspicion that whatever Shaw was holding back about how Root had been located was being withheld because Sameen knew that Root wouldn’t like it.

So watching Shaw walk away along the row of ambulances looking for license plate number 0020 was hard.

But at the same time, she felt almost giddy knowing that Shaw was there.

“Keep your earpiece on. I’ll see what the Machine wanted me to check out and get back in touch.” They had been the last words Shaw said, all business, before she had headed away from Root. And while it was unsettling for Shaw to seemingly flip a switch inside and no longer show any sort of reaction to Root’s presence, it was also reassuring.

They were back to their old methods: cooperatively destructive and determined.

Root turned away from Shaw’s retreating figure and headed to the front door of the hospital. She needed to see if the way was clear there or if she should try a side entrance. The side door made her less visible, but required a key card that she didn’t have. Starting this off with a take-down of an innocent nurse or doctor seemed less than prudent.

As the front of the hospital came into view, so did Mike. The glass door was sliding shut behind him, and he was looking distractedly into his wallet, counting cash. Root thought he looked worse than ever. She approached him quickly, head down, and reached out to take his arm when he started to turn to walk away down the sidewalk.

“What’s the hurry, Evans? Going somewhere?” she asked. He flinched hard at the contact and her voice. Jumpy.

“What happened? Where’ve you been?” Mike asked in a panic when he realized who it was that had grabbed onto him.

“I got caught up in a… well, let’s call it a meeting,” Root said lightheartedly. “I needed to _touch base_ with my co-worker.” 

She couldn’t help but enjoy how breezy her voice sounded. He looked concerned at her tone, and she realized that she hadn’t sounded so playfully sarcastic in weeks. Not without seeming completely in-genuine and anxious, anyway.

“You shouldn’t be here. They’ve got a guard on Divya’s room. He told me that visiting hours were over and said that he’d be down soon to _pick me up_ ,” Mike told her, his voice harried and shaking.

“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Root said in a joking tone.

“You don’t think I know that?” he yelped. He started to back away from her, his hands up like he was surrendering. “Look, I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Yes, you are.”

“ _No_. You’re gonna get me killed and-”

Root scoffed, mockingly laughing at him.

“If you walk away from me right now, there will be nothing I can do to stop them from hauling you off to some dark basement. They’ll kill you, tonight, like an insect that accidentally crossed their path. That’s if you’re lucky. And if you’re not? They will keep you there for weeks or months and torture you for information about me and about my people,” she told him.

“I don’t know anything about you and your people! We’ve been out here for _weeks_ and I don’t even know your _real name_ ,” he argued back, indignant and mad. She looked around to make sure they weren’t being watched. Luckily, now that the sun was setting it was bitterly cold outside, and that meant that they were alone on the walkway in front of the hospital.

“That won’t stop them,” Root told him. She felt bad for scaring him, but he needed to understand that he was in serious danger. She watched his throat bob.

“I just wanna be with Tasha,” he told her. He was begging her. Like she was forcing him to stay away from his girlfriend.

“I know. I know how you feel,” she had never said anything half as personal to Mike before, and he seemed to have immediately realized that it was significant. She’d barely admitted to herself how strong her feelings for Sameen were, much less admitting it to someone else. “If you want to get back to Tasha, you have to stay with me and finish this. We need to get Divya and get out of here.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then looked up at the hospital looming over them.

“They’re going to know we don’t belong in there and catch us,” he told her.

“Not with a little help from my friend,” Root told him.

Evans followed her inside of the building, and she was glad that she had looked at the floor plan of the building before she arrived. Instead of taking the elevator, she led them up a staircase at the end of a ward.

“Is Divya ready to move?” Root asked. Mike didn’t realize that she was talking to him until she turned back to look at him. He shrugged.

“She got a concussion. They said she’ll be fine, but her head’s been hurting and she said she felt like throwing up. I think her shoulder hurts the most,” he explained. “But they said she didn’t need surgery, she just needs to rest and take care of it, I guess.”

Root could tell it made him sick to think about the bullet hole in the girl’s shoulder, so she didn’t ask him anything more.

On the third floor, she peered around a corner and saw that there were a man was guarding a room halfway down the hall.

“That’s her room?” she asked Mike.

He nodded.

——————————

In the apparently empty ambulance bay, Shaw located the license plate in question and drew her gun.

She quietly looked into the cab of the vehicle and found it unoccupied.

With a deep breath, she swung the back door open and found herself looking at a computer desk and the back of a woman in a suit. The woman sitting in front of the computer spun, surprised, and started to get up when she saw Sameen.

As soon as she saw that the woman was pulling a gun, Shaw shot her in the leg and hurried up into the ambulance, grabbing the woman’s hand, tearing the gun from it, and knocking her out.

Shaw glanced out into the ambulance bay. There was no sign of anyone else.

When she was sure she was alone, she swung the door of the ambulance shut and then turned back to the unconscious woman and the computer.

On the screen was a schedule with different strings of numbers beside different hours of the day. From eleven in the morning until seven, the number 247645. From seven until five the following morning was the number 887718.

Shaw turned and felt the woman’s jacket pockets for anything to help the situation and was rewarded. In one pocket, the woman had an ID badge with the number 887718 and the name Rachel Portman. Shaw quickly double checked to make sure that the badge number was the same as that of the guard who was going to be in the hospital for the next ten hours, then called Root.

——————————

Just as Root was reaching the conclusion that she had no options aside from attacking the guard head-on, Shaw made contact.

“I found the guard who’s supposed to be taking over inside the hospital,” Shaw said. Root stilled.

“Are you ok?” Root asked. Shaw’s voice sounded anxious.

“Fine. Are you?” Shaw asked, and Root’s heartbeat sped up.

“If you’d called ten seconds later I’d be in a gunfight,” Root said playfully, and listened to Shaw’s exhale through the earpiece.

“The ambulance is an office. The guard’s name is Rachel Portman. Her badge has a number on it. It’s eight eight, seven seven, one eight. Pretend you’re her?” Shaw suggested. She didn’t sound very confident, but Root knew that she might as well try it. If it didn’t work, that was what her gun was for.

“It’s worth a shot,” Root told her.

“Steal the kid’s chart,” Shaw requested. “I’ll get the car and some supplies.”

Then they disconnected and Root stepped into the hallway authoritatively, motioning for Mike to stay out of sight and wait for her to let him know it was safe to follow.

Seeing that the guard was wearing a suit coat, Root was glad that she had put back on the clothes she’d worn that morning when she had pretended to belong in the latest shell factory. She at least looked relatively professional, which could only help her blend in.

He looked up as she approached and gave her a once-over.

“ _You’re_ the next shift?” he asked, skeptical.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it,” she teased with a withering look. He was obviously confused, and she tilted her head to one side as she explained herself. “They put you in charge of babysitting a little girl. Doesn’t seem like they have much confidence in you.”

“I heard that the group that hit the storehouse earlier took out an entire team no problem.”

She smirked at how defensive he had become, but didn’t reply, forcing him to speak again.

“You’re early,” he told her, his voice low.

“You know what they say: on time is late,” she said with a smile that said he was wasting her time. He shook his head, annoyed, and moved from the doorway. When she started to breeze past him, he shot an arm out to block her.

“I need your badge number. Gotta make sure you’re not one of them,” he said. Root momentarily forgot the numbers that Shaw had said to her only a few minutes earlier, and watched as he pulled out a cellphone, opening an interface to enter her number. Luckily, working with the Machine for so long had taught her to remember things quickly, and the numbers returned.

“Eight eight, seven seven, one eight,” she told the guard. She watched him enter the numbers on the little screen, and then hit a button. She held her breath and started to move her hand to the gun at her hip.

“All right,” the guard said, pocketing his phone. “The bus still down there?”

Root nodded, recognizing that he was probably referring to the ambulance that Shaw had infiltrated. He headed towards the elevator without another word, and once the doors closed behind him, Root went and got Evans, already calling Shaw again.

“The guard I just replaced is heading for that ambulance. Make sure that the real Rachel Portman is out of the way and then get out of there. We need to give ourselves some time,” Root said when the line connected.

“Already on it,” Shaw said. Root could hear the smile in her voice. As nerve wracking as these situations always were, Root was ashamed to admit to herself that it was fun knowing that Shaw was close by, anticipating what needed to happen before Root had asked.

Root entered the room and found Divya looking pale and sweaty, her eyes closed. When she heard their footsteps, her eyes opened.

“Were you sleeping?” Mike asked, and Divya looked disgruntled.

“I wish,” she complained, then started to sit up, her arm tucked against her side, “Are we getting out of here?”

“That’s the plan,” Root said, quickly grabbing the medical chart at the foot of the bed. Divya swung her legs off the side of the bed and paused, looking queasy. Mike moved to the side of the bed and put a hand out for her.

“I told you before, I don’t want your help,” she bit the words out at him, her jaw tight.

“Yeah and then you puked on the floor,” he snapped back. She gave him a dirty look.

Root looked over the chart and then noticed out of the corner of her eye that Divya was trying to stand up and grabbed for Mike’s arm despite her refusal to have help.

They were going to have to find a wheelchair or some other way to get Divya out of there. It looked like she wasn’t going anywhere fast.

——————————

Shaw had watched the guard go inside of the ambulance and emerge again shortly thereafter. He didn’t look the least bit perturbed, so they seemed to be in the clear. She quickly went inside the hospital and gathered up some medical supplies, putting them in the trunk of their car. They were lucky that this ‘hospital’ was more of an emergency clinic than a full medical center if only because it meant that personnel were few and far between, generally unconcerned about the possibility of someone breaking in to steal anything.

It surprised and worried her that she hadn’t seen any sign of Root or the other two by the time she was done gathering things up, so she went back into the hospital in search of the taller woman.

On the third floor, she walked down the hall peering into rooms. Halfway down the hallway, she found herself looking at Root’s back

“She’s all right, just feeling a little sick,” Root said when she heard the door close, her hand going to her waist where Shaw knew she’d stuck her handgun. When the brunette tossed her hair over her shoulder to look back at whoever had come into the room, Shaw was pleased to watch Root’s face light up with a smile before her eyebrows lowered in confusion. “I thought we were meeting outside.”

“Yeah, so did I. What’s the hold-up?” Shaw asked, stepping forward and taking a look at Divya, who was sitting in a wheelchair looking clammy. When she saw Shaw, the girl’s eyes looked like she was trying to place her for a moment, and then it clicked.

“You- You were going to kill me,” she said. It had clicked, but it had done so incorrectly. Shaw saw the panic growing on the girl’s face and watched her start to pull her arm out of Evans’ hands where he was anxiously trying to remove the IV from her forearm. Shaw stepped forward automatically, brushing Evans aside and taking hold of Divya’s wrist to keep her from tearing the IV out. 

“No, I wasn’t,” she told the girl, who twisted in the chair but couldn’t get out of Shaw’s grip. “Calm down, I need to get the IV out.”

But Divya was not calming down.

“You’re with _them_ ,” she said, her voice growing in volume. “Let go of me.”

“She’s not with them,” Root said, stepping to crouch directly in front of Divya so that Shaw had to move to one side. Divya was sweating even worse now. “She’s with us. Okay? You have to be quiet, because the nurses could be working with them, and if they hear you, we’re in trouble.”

Divya still looked sick with fear, but she’d stopped moving long enough for Shaw to finish removing the IV. Shaw was impressed that Root had shut the girl up so efficiently, and when she looked over at the taller woman appreciatively, she was surprised that to see that Root’s eyes were on Divya’s and were completely reassuring.

“How are you feeling?” Shaw asked, pressing her fingers to Divya’s wrist to roughly gauge her heart rate. It was fast, but that was normal given that she had just been ready to claw her way out of Shaw’s grip.

“We need to move. We don’t know when they’ll figure out that we’re taking her,” Root said, her eyes still on Divya as she stood up again.

“Actually, Portman’s shift is supposed to end at five AM. Best case, that gives us plenty of time to get out of here,” Shaw told her.

“The guard will realize that Mike disappeared,” Root said quietly. She was right.

“We need to get something for her to throw up in, just in case,” Evans said. Root picked up a plastic trashcan with a displeased smile.

Shaw picked the chart up from the bed instead of doing a full physical and glanced over the chart. They had the kid taking codeine, for the gunshot or the concussion or both. Shaw thought about this as they wheeled her to the elevator and out to the car.

——————————

They stopped at the motel one last time to gather up their remaining possessions. Divya and Evans stayed out in the car. Shaw had found bottles of water in the hospital and told Divya to drink them. It wasn’t as good as something that would replenish her electrolytes, but it was better than nothing and if Shaw was right in suspecting that the nausea was more due to the girl taking codeine than it was from the concussion, drinking water would possibly help flush her system a bit faster.

Inside the motel room, they gathered up the guns and clothes, packing everything into bags.

As they were finishing up, Root noticed that Shaw kept on looking around, increasingly frustrated.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked. Shaw turned and looked embarrassed and flustered.

“The Order of Lenin… I must have dropped it or something,” she said. She was trying to seem uninterested, but Root could tell she was enormously perturbed. And Root felt awkward as she reached inside the front of her shirt and pulled it out from under the cloth. She had picked it up before they left for the hospital. She didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to do it. It was just reassuring to have it near her. She was used to its weight.

“I forgot I picked it up,” Root lied, “I guess it’s a habit.”

She saw how relieved Shaw looked and held the medal out to her.

“No, you- uh, you should hold onto it for me,” Shaw said, equally airy. Root looked surprised. “I mean, I already thought I lost it, right?”

Honestly, Shaw had surprised _herself_ by telling Root to keep it. But she really did want Root to keep it for the time being. And she liked the fact that Root had picked it up out of habit. It meant that something about Shaw fit flawlessly into Root’s routine. Something about that fact warmed Shaw. And anyway, if Root had it and they got separated, it meant that she could always track the taller woman down a little more easily.

She watched Root quietly hang the chain back around her neck, and was both pleased and a little guilty when she glimpsed the bruise low on Root’s neck.

——————————

Root was surprised that Shaw didn’t put up a fight when she said that she would drive. She was clearly exhausted.

When Root climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car, the radio turned on without anyone touching it and channels flicked past until there was only static. Evans groaned and Shaw reached out to turn it off.

“We need to keep it on,” Root told Shaw quietly. Sameen was affronted until she saw the look in Root’s eyes. With an annoyed sigh, Shaw leaned against the passenger side window.

As they drove, Shaw found herself nodding off repeatedly, unable to stay awake. That wasn’t a problem- it was why she had let Root drive in the first place. But she couldn’t ever fully fall asleep. And this was because every time she got close, Divya would start complaining about her shoulder hurting, saying she thought she might be sick, asking how much longer they were going to drive, and any other number of unhelpful things. Shaw was at the end of her rope.

“We’ve been driving for two hours. When are we stopping?” Divya asked for what seemed like the tenth time. Shaw turned in her seat and glared back at the girl.

“We stop when she says we stop,” she said, her words clipped and threatening.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Divya replied, equally short.

Shaw clenched her jaw shut, breathing through her nose slowly and closing her eyes as she pressed her forehead against the window.

“So are we stopping soon?” Divya asked.

“I don’t know,” Root replied quietly, her eyes glued to the dark road ahead of them.

“Then let’s _stop_ if you _don’t know_ ,” Divya said. Shaw couldn’t stand the girl’s condescending tone.

“Do you want to get caught?” Shaw asked aggressively, turning again to look at Divya.

“We haven’t seen any sign of them. No one’s following us,” Divya argued.

“You don’t know that,” Shaw said, scoffing at the girl.

“Well the only way to find out is to stop and see,” Divya replied.

“Are you this stupid because you got a concussion or does this astonishing level of idiocy just come naturally to you?” Shaw asked, itching to fight.

“ _Shaw_ ,” Root said. Sameen looked at Root and saw that she was annoyed.

At that moment, a series of little taps began in the crackling of the radio. Shaw immediately wanted to scream, then realized what was happening. She started to pay attention, listening and translating in her mind as a message was slowly relayed through the speakers.

The Machine was finally giving them some guidance.

——————————

Out ahead of them in the darkness, a city loomed. They’d passed Milwaukee a while earlier, and Root and Shaw both knew because they’d understood the morse code from the Machine that this was Chicago.

When they finally pulled off the interstate and into the parking lot of a cheesy motel, Root could tell that Evans was wary. This wasn’t like any of the other areas they’d stayed in.

Despite the banks of dirty snow and the sub-freezing temperatures, there were a few people standing near the dumpsters at one end of the lot. When they saw that the car had stopped nearby, the little circle of people threw threatening looks and moved to be more hidden in the dark.

Root checked in under the Machine’s latest false identity and went back out to the car where the others were sitting with the engine running to keep warm.

“We’ll get Divya inside, you go get food,” Root told Mike. He looked alarmed.

“I’m going to get shot by someone even if we weren’t followed,” he said.

“No, you won’t. Don’t bother anyone and they won’t bother you,” Shaw told him, already out of the car and hauling bags of weapons and medical supplies onto the curb. The crew near the dumpsters was looking their direction with interest. Mike started to shake his head. “Not a discussion, Evans.”

“You can take the car,” Root told him, handing him the keys. “Call if there’s a problem.”

He left unhappily.

Divya made it inside without any help, and Shaw pointed for her to lay down on one of the double beds.

“Couldn’t’ve sprung for two rooms?” Shaw teased Root. Root was drawn and quiet, and didn’t reply to Shaw’s comment.

Shaw did a check-up on Divya, making sure that she wasn’t having any problems with bleeding from the concussion or with the gunshot. It seemed like the girl was tired and uncomfortable enough that she was mostly cooperative. She seemed to realize that Shaw knew what she was doing.

“I think it’s the codeine they were giving you that was making you sick, so I want to try tylenol instead,” Shaw told her, and the girl was more than happy to take something for the pain.

When Shaw turned and saw that Root was looking out the window and then at the time, she felt bad for having shooed Evans off. Root was obviously worried about him.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she told Root, who shook her head.

“What if they found him,” she said quietly. Shaw sorted some medical supplies and got Divya a full glass of water while she replied.

“They didn’t. This neighborhood isn’t the kind of bad neighborhood that’s patrolled by police. This is gang territory in Chicago- cops have either given up on this place or they’ve been paid to keep their noses out. There aren’t cameras. And that means that _no one_ can see us,” Shaw said. She stopped and looked meaningfully at Root. It wasn’t just Samaritan that couldn’t see them. The Machine couldn’t either.

Root nodded and looked to Divya. Shaw followed her gaze and saw that Divya seemed to have fallen asleep already.

“I’ll check on her throughout the night. Standard concussion tests every couple of hours,” Shaw said.

“We should take turns,” Root said, thinking that Shaw looked beyond exhausted.

“No, I’ve got it,” Shaw said, and moved closer to the window, pulling one side of the curtains most of the way shut. It was in part to keep them from being seen, but mostly an excuse to be close to Root.

“You need the sleep. Let me help,” Root told her, inwardly annoyed by Shaw’s stubbornness.

Shaw could tell something was wrong with Root but wasn’t sure what it was. She thought it seemed like she was causing Root to be annoyed and wasn’t sure what she’d done, although she could guess that it had something to do with fighting with the kid. Standing so close together, Shaw wished that Root would close the last distance between them. Even with something as simple as a touch on the arm.

Root looked down at Shaw. The shorter woman looked worn out and a little morose. Root wanted to kiss her. To brush her hair back from her forehead. To do _something_. But she didn’t know if Shaw wanted her to. Shaw hadn’t been in the greatest mood since they left Neshkoro, and Root didn’t want to push her luck.

She left the window and stood beside the second bed, moving her hair to pull the medal from around her neck. She felt Shaw’s eyes on her and saw that the shorter woman was looking at her throat.

“Sorry about the uh… bruise,” Shaw said, her eyes bright. Root recognized the excitement in the darker woman’s face and was reassured. They were okay.

“No you’re not,” she said with a teasing smile. Shaw smirked back and leaned against the wall beside the window.

“No,” she said, “I’m not.”

Root put the medal on the bedside table and took a step back towards Sameen. She watched the shorter woman’s eyes dart to Divya, then back to Root’s own face. Root just raised an eyebrow and stepped closer until she was in Shaw’s space.

The door began to open and Shaw ducked away, clearing her throat.

As Mike entered with a couple of bags of food, Divya immediately opened her eyes.

“Took you long enough,” the girl said.

“At least if we get killed in our sleep there’s a cemetery really close by,” Mike joked without humor.

——————————

Shaw jolted from a dream like she’d been dropped out of the sky onto the bed and the impact had awoken her. In her dream, Root had been… she couldn’t quite remember all of the details and didn’t think she wanted to. She knew that Samaritan had been there, and she didn’t want to think about what exactly it was that Root had been. The word ‘gone’ was enough to send a chill up her spine.

With a deep breath, Shaw turned her head just enough to reassure herself that it really had just been a dream.

And it was, of course. Root was sound asleep beside her.

Sameen’s heart was still beating in double time. Part of her, the little kid whose dad used to stroke her hair when she’d had a nightmare, wanted to curl up into Root and inhale the smell of her. To rest her head on Root’s chest. But Shaw fought the instinct and focused instead on absorbing comfort from Root by simply watching her.

It was strange to look at Root while she was asleep. Her forehead was smooth, and her mouth lacked any sign of a grin or a frown. No knowing grin or worried pull to her eyebrows. She was peaceful. More than peaceful. There was an almost childlike quality to her relaxed expression. And Shaw liked the way those dark lashes met. The way her lips rested slightly parted beneath her long nose.

Sameen found herself fighting a sudden urge to reach out and touch the woman beside her. She wanted to trace the bridge of her nose, the ridge that connected her lip to her nose. _The philtrum_ , Shaw thought to herself. It was a habit she’d developed in medical school and never quite been able to break- looking at a body part and producing the anatomical term.

But she didn’t want to wake Root up, and when Shaw looked at the time, she realized she should get up and wake Divya to check on her. It was the last check Shaw would have to make before they got up and kept moving. Having to wake up every couple of hours was the last thing that Sameen wanted to do, but it had to be done.

She shuffled through the dark motel room, swiping at her face as she found the chair she’d put beside Divya earlier in the night. She sat down and reached out to touch the girl’s arm on the side without a bullet wound in the shoulder.

“You’ve gotta wake up again,” Shaw murmured when Divya didn’t react. It took a few bumps against her forearm for Divya to awaken.

“Can you tell me your name?” Shaw asked quietly, starting her list of questions when Divya sleepily opened her eyes.

“I’m Divya Makkar,” she said, her voice betraying her irritation.

“You remember what happened?” Shaw asked, trying to keep her voice down.

“Yup. I got hit on the head when there was an explosion that _you_ caused,” Divya accused. Shaw looked over at Evans and Root respectively, checking to see that they were still asleep. Divya was less considerate when it came to keeping quiet, and Sameen wanted to tell her off but she was honestly too tired for the indignant bullshit that would follow, and the only way to get back into bed next to Root was to finish this stupid test.

“What’s one hundred minus eight?”

“Ninety two,” Divya said, her frustration worsening with Shaw’s flat affect.

“Subtract eight from that?” Shaw asked, extending her pointer fingers for Divya to squeeze, which she did without issue.

“Eighty four,” Divya said.

“Subtract eight more.”

“Seventy six, sixty eight, sixty, fifty two,” Divya said, acerbic as she calculated in her head. “Want me to keep going?”

“No, that’s enough,” Shaw said. She supposed that the attitude she was receiving from Divya could have been the result of the concussion, but she didn’t think so. The kid was fully aware and quick to answer whatever questions Shaw asked: naming the months in reverse order, counting by three, giving her birth date, the year she graduated from high school, and explaining that she’d only ever gotten texts and emails from the mysterious rebel who was leading Root around the country to plan the destruction of the warehouses. It wasn’t surprising to Shaw that Divya didn’t know about the Machine, so she knew not to count the girl’s apparent cluelessness as related to her concussion. All in all, Shaw was sure that Divya would be alright.

“Can’t I take something other than _tylenol_? I don’t think it’s doing anything.”

Okay, so maybe the fact that Divya wanted more pain medication every time she woke up wasn’t a great sign.

“Nope. Just the tylenol. Advil and ibuprofen increase the risk of bleeding. Unless you want to start throwing up again,” she told Divya quietly. The girl shook her head, annoyed. Shaw reached over to the desk, opening the tylenol bottle and shaking two into her hand. “That’s what I figured.”

“Are you sure they’re not placebos?” Divya asked. Shaw summoned all of her willpower to keep from making a biting comment in response to the girl’s bitter tone. She held the pills and a glass of water out to Divya and watched the girl take them.

“Is it your head or your shoulder that hurts?” Shaw asked as Divya swallowed.

“Both,” Divya replied like it should have been obvious. Shaw just nodded and took the glass back, putting it on the table as she got up.

“Get some sleep,” she told the girl in the bed, her eyes back on Root, who had rolled to the edge of the bed in Shaw’s absence.

When Shaw slipped back under the blankets, she was disappointed that Root was so far away. The chill of the painful nightmare still lingered, but Shaw couldn’t bring herself to move to the center of the bed to be close to Root. That would probably be too much even if they were by themselves. With the other two so close by, there was no way that Shaw was going to get anywhere near Root.

Luckily the taller woman was on her back, so Shaw could still look at her.

She slowly calmed as she looked the Root. She traced Root’s profile with her eyes and the irritation at Divya faded. Watched the rise and fall of Root’s chest as she breathed, and the anxiety from the horrible dream was soothed. Admired the arch of the woman’s eyebrows and forgot for a moment that soon they would have to get up and move on.

Some time later, Root rolled onto her side, allowing Shaw to see the entirety of her face. And though she couldn’t fall back asleep, with Root quiet and close by Shaw didn’t mind.

While she lay looking over at Root, the glow around the edge of the curtains grew and changed color from the orange of street lamps to the blue of early morning.

Shaw had never been one to meditate, but she fell into an almost trancelike state.

She didn’t even process it when Root’s breathing changed and her eyes blinked and opened.

“You watching me sleep now?” Root asked. The teasing smile on Root’s face sunk in and Shaw smirked to cover her embarrassment.

“It’s the only time you’re not a pain in the ass,” she said. She watched Root’s smile widen and the taller woman hummed contentedly as she scooted closer to Shaw.

Root brushed hair out of Shaw’s face and leaned in to kiss her.

Shaw could do this forever. She wanted to stay in bed and kiss Root indefinitely.

But she couldn’t.

And in the bed right beside them, Divya and Evans were (hopefully) sleeping. Shaw reluctantly withdrew and lifted her head to peer past Root.

“Are you shy, sweetie?” Root teased. Shaw frowned noncommittally.

“It’s none of their business,” Shaw said. She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying what had actually crossed her mind.

“And…?” Root said, eyebrows raised. She had correctly read Shaw’s hesitation and knew that she was holding something back. In that moment, looking at Root with her hair in wild waves around her pale face, Shaw didn’t want to be anything but honest with the woman beside her.

“And if one of them gets caught by Decima, then Samaritan will know about us. And if Samaritan knows, they can use us against each other,” Shaw said. She watched Root’s face fall, then quickly recover.

“So we’re playing gal pals until we get back to New York? I have a feeling this isn’t going to be easy,” Root joked, her smirk returning. Shaw watched the mischief brighten Root’s face and wanted to kiss her even more than before. She had missed Root so much, and although she’d thought while she was alone that she was exalting Root more than the brunette had earned, it was expressions like this one that reminded Shaw why being apart had been so hard. And Root was right, of course- being this close and unable to show Root any affection was going to be very difficult.

Shaw got up to distract herself.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and leaving comments, everybody!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Root watched as Shaw started to pack things up to leave the hotel. Evans woke up and watched sullenly as she moved quietly around the room. While she sorted through medical supplies that she’d stolen from the hospital, Root did research on the laptop.

She’d received an email during the night that she recognized as being from a cover of the Machine’s, and was working on unveiling as much information about their next destination as possible.

They were heading southwest to Earth City, Missouri. Her research yielded that it was part of the greater St. Louis area right on the Missouri River, and served as a sort of hub of businesses that needed huge buildings to accommodate their wares. Many of the buildings were centers for storage units, pharmaceuticals, automotive parts, and companies whose sole purpose was to distribute products for other companies.

It was one of these last businesses that they would be infiltrating: a trucking company adjacent to the training facilities for the St. Louis Rams. Just south of the warehouse in question, there was a small neighborhood.

For some reason, these facts brought the reality of their actions back to Root with a gut-churning clarity.

The purpose, the whole reason that she and Evans had spent weeks traversing the country, was to stop Samaritan. To meet the Machine’s newest ally in whatever the latest town happened to be and help ensure that the recruit was prepared with explosives so that when Root returned to Reese and Finch and Shaw, they could be reasonably sure that every node that Samaritan had running would be destroyed. To perform this destruction simultaneously would hopefully prevent Decima and Greer from scattering like cockroaches and then regrouping somewhere new. Every last one of the servers _had_ to be destroyed.

All of that was imperative. But it disregarded the possibility that in every one of those facilities, there could be people. Even if they were to wait until the middle of the night, which was the plan, there would be human lives at risk all over the country. Even if no innocents were killed, livelihoods would be ruined by the decimation of warehouses, production lines, and factories that served as covers for Samaritan’s hardware.

On the next leg of their journey, they would be planning the placement of explosives that could shake the windows of every house in the neighborhood just a few blocks away. If something went wrong, people would be killed. Bystanders. Innocent men and women.

The Root from just a few years earlier wouldn’t have batted an eye at the amount of demolition that would be occurring sooner or later. But now she was sitting on a double bed in a too-small hotel room, watching Shaw pack gauze and white tape into a little bag. Thinking about Finch finally returned from his global travels, and Reese working as a detective. If she lost one of them, she didn’t know what she would do. And knowing that the plan she was putting in motion could very well do just that for innumerable people all over the country was not something she was able to make peace with.

Shaw cursed loudly as she accidentally kicked the leg of the double bed where Evans and Divya were laying.

Divya grunted and jerked awake.

“Imagine that: _you_ woke me up again,” she complained when she realized Shaw was the source of the commotion. Sameen glared through the dim room at the girl.

“Was my making sure you weren’t _bleeding excessively inside of your skull_ keeping you from getting a good night’s sleep?” Shaw asked.

Root got up and brushed past the shorter woman to help get ready to leave. She sighed heavily at the thought of having to spend hour upon hour with the two of them arguing, and hoped that once they were better rested and out of the cramped confines of the room, their moods would lighten up.

——————————

Root was wrong to have hoped that they would stop fighting once they weren’t quite so exhausted.

They stayed in Earth City, then in a town an hour or so west of Wichita, Kansas, and then further west and south, into the miserable desert of New Mexico. They had exhausted most of Mike’s list of servers, but the Machine had sent a few more locations for them. Every leg of the journey was a battle between Sameen and the college-aged girl.

On the day they spent traversing Kansas, they’d been in the car for hours and it was Root’s turn to drive.

It seemed like every time Shaw started to doze off in the passenger seat, Divya would make some noise that would wake her up. Root noticed the timing and suspected that it was intentional on the girl’s part. But whether or not it was Divya’s attempts to start yet another bickering match, Shaw’s responses were juvenile and only fed the fire.

Shaw’s head started to slide down the window that she was slouching against and Divya coughed again. Shaw stiffened and straightened up some.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Shaw growled.

“I’m _coughing_ ,” Divya said, “Are you telling me not to cough?”

“Yeah, I am,” Shaw replied.

“Next you’re going to tell me to stop breathing.”

“Feel free. Maybe then I’ll get some sleep,” Shaw retorted.

“Sam,” Root said, glancing over at her sternly.

“What?” Shaw’s voice was low and angry.

“She’s a _kid_ ,” Root told her. Sure, she was being offensive, but Shaw didn’t have to fight back every time.

“So what? She’s allowed to be annoying because she’s _younger_ than me?” Shaw asked.

“No, she’s allowed to be annoying because she got shot and hit on the head,” Root replied.

“Thanks to you,” Divya added, and Shaw turned to look back at her with a threatening frown. Divya sneered. “I’m _injured_. What’s _your_ excuse?”

Shaw rose to the bait and began to say something back.

“Stop,” Root commanded, exasperated.

Shaw looked back ahead of them out the windshield, silently fuming.

At least there were some brief moments of reprieve. While they had moved through the storage facility in Earth City, Root could feel Shaw’s eyes on her, watching with bright eyes and an excited smile as Root explained to the thin man, Sean, where and when to place the explosives. Whenever they were actively working, Shaw perked up some and they would catch one another’s gaze longer than necessary.

But if Root smiled too much or teasingly stood in Shaw’s personal space, the shorter woman would passive aggressively move away or ignore her. Root was beginning to wonder if Shaw missed sex and their simple connections, both physical and emotional, at all. It seemed easy for her to flip the switch inside of herself and be completely removed from any personal desires.

And as more hours of travel passed each day, Shaw became more removed from Root and more aggressive with Divya.

——————————

Root half-awoke to darkness, too warm. She was lying on her stomach in a crummy motel bed in New Mexico. It was an unusual position for her to sleep in.

She realized she had been having a dream about Shaw: those rough hands reaching around to her abdomen, their legs entangled. She took a slow breath to try to steady her racing heart. But even now that the metaphorical gears in her brain were starting to churn and awareness was slowly returning, she could feel the memory of Shaw’s heated breath on the back of her neck, clumsy fingers pressing into her waist, and the weight of the leg hooked between her own.

There was movement against Root’s hip, and a low, breathy groan.

Yes, Root had been dreaming. But the reason was suddenly clear. Shaw’s body _was_ pressed against her. Root’s eyes flew open and she could see on the opposite bed that Evans and Divya were still sleeping soundly, dead to the world.

She lifted her head and turned to look the other direction, watching Shaw’s face, right beside hers, loll to the side. Root’s movement had displaced Shaw’s head from Root’s clammy shoulder. Shaw was fast asleep, her lips parted.

But despite being asleep, Shaw was helplessly grinding her pelvis against Root, her hands bunching Root’s cotton shorts to pull her closer. She was dreaming. Another soft groan rumbled in Shaw’s throat, and Root smirked, twisting to free her arm from beneath Shaw’s body.

Root glanced over at the other bed again, remembering Shaw’s annoyance that Root kept trying to steal a few moments of intimacy every time the depressed man and annoying girl turned their backs. The other two were asleep for now but if Shaw had woken Root up, it wasn’t that farfetched to think she might wake their roommates up as well. Root knew how pissed off Shaw would be if that happened.

She put a hand on Shaw’s hip, intending to push her back into the mattress and wake her up, but the contact only seemed to spur the shorter woman on. Root was surprised at how fluid Shaw’s movements were, her hips rolling like ocean waves against her bedmate.

This time when noise escaped from Shaw, it was not an indistinguishable moan. What had started as a quiet grunt took shape.

“ _Root_.”

It took Root a startled moment to let Shaw’s breathless use of her own name sink in and for Root’s chest to suddenly feel like it was expanding enormously to accommodate the affection she felt for the beautiful woman beside her. Then Root twisted again and rolled onto her side to fully face Shaw. She kissed the sleeping woman gently, running her hands through the dark, tangled hair. Shaw’s lips reacted unconsciously, pursing a little in response to the gentle touch of Root’s mouth.

“Sameen,” Root whispered against Shaw’s lips to wake her up, brushing hair out of her face. Root felt the shiver that ran up Shaw’s spine, saw the corners of her lips curl upward into a delicious smile at the sound of her name as her hands tightened on Root’s clothes. Root kissed her again, nipping at her bottom lip- gently at first, which earned her another little grind of Shaw’s pelvis against her thigh, then more aggressively, until she heard the sudden intake of breath through Shaw’s nose as her entire body tightened.

Root pulled her head back to look at Shaw, whose eyes were now open. The surprise and then anger on Shaw’s face were not as menacing as they would have been otherwise, because she still had the unmistakable look of arousal in every line of her face.

She disentangled herself from Root’s body, swallowing hard.

“Jesus,” she muttered, laying flat on her back and closing her eyes, taking a deep breath and resting her forearm on her forehead.

Root regretted waking her up. Missed the hot body pressed into her side. She kept watching Shaw until the shorter woman turned to look at her again. Her expression projected annoyance that Root wasn’t sure was meant for her. Then she spoke, apologetic. “I was having a dream.”

Root raised her eyebrows.

“I know, sweetie. You woke me up,” teased Root. Even in the dark, she could sense the blood drain from Shaw’s face with embarrassment. She pressed her mouth shut and inhaled through her nose, deep and slow.

“Shit,” said Shaw, “Sorry.”

Root leaned over her with a smirk, reaching out and putting a hand on Sameen’s chest. She could feel the dark-haired woman’s heartbeat too fast. Her finger tips brushed against the fabric of Shaw’s tank top until she found what she was looking for, pinching her nipple indelicately through the thin fabric. Shaw quickly took her wrist and glanced in the direction of Mike and Divya.

“They’re asleep,” Root told her, smirking as she dipped her head to kiss Shaw. Shaw turned her head to avoid Root’s lips, her eyes shut tight.

Then she wriggled out from under Root and sat on the edge of the bed facing the wall, slumped forward so that her shoulder blades stood out like bird wings.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Shaw said quietly, and began to get dressed in the dark. Root wasn’t sure what was happening until Shaw was pocketing the car keys and slipping on her boots and a coat.

“Wait,” Root whispered. Shaw shook her head.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go far,” she said. It was too dark for Root to see her face. “Go back to sleep.”

The door opened and Shaw shut it quietly behind herself as Root fumbled for her clothes in the darkness. She couldn’t find her coat and knew that if she didn’t hurry, Shaw would be long gone by the time she got outside. She rushed from the dinghy motel room and down the hall to the stairwell. There was no sign of Shaw.

Root finally caught up outside. Shaw was unlocking the SUV as Root flung the door of the building open.

“Will you wait,” she called out in frustration, folding her arms over her chest to retain some body heat. Shaw looked up, annoyed.

“I told you to stay there,” she said, her hand dropping from the door handle as Root approached. She didn’t need an audience while she dealt with this. Shaw kept returning to the same thought: _when did I become this person_? She didn’t have an answer for herself. Not one that she wanted, anyway. What she wanted was to go have some drinks and find a random drunk to pick a fight with.

“Where are you going?” Root asked. They had moved out of the Northern, snow-covered landscapes, and the daily highs had been in the fifties, but it was still far too cold to be outside in the middle of the night without a coat, and Shaw wished that Root wouldn’t be so careless. She watched clouds form and disappear between them as they breathed.

“I don’t know yet. Whatever bar I find first,” Shaw said.

Root wished the parking lot was better lit so that she could see Shaw’s expression more clearly. She walked closer and could tell that Shaw looked more distressed than mad.

“What?” Root asked, confused by that look. She wondered if Shaw was really that upset because Root had tried to make a move when Evans and Divya were so close. She knew it was in poor taste but she wouldn’t have tried it if she thought it would make Shaw so perturbed. And anyway, she wasn’t sure that that’s what the problem was.

“Nothing,” she said. Root kept looking at her, waiting for her to continue. She didn’t.

“Let me go with you,” Root said. Shaw shook her head.

“We can’t leave them here. Somebody has to be nearby in case something happens,” Shaw said.

“Then stay here with me,” Root replied. Shaw winced.

“I can’t go and lay in that bed six inches away from you,” she said, shaking her head again. “I feel like I’m like a twelve year old boy hitting puberty. It’s pathetic. And I can’t stop it from happening.”

She seemed so disgusted with herself. This seemed to be what was bothering the shorter woman.

Root looked at Shaw, searching her face for something. Anything that might tell her what the right thing to do was.

Nothing came to her.

Root stepped forward and kissed Shaw. The shorter woman’s mouth was hot, starkly contrasted by the cold hands that found either side of her face and pulled Root closer.

When they broke apart, Shaw kept her eyes closed, breathing deeply. She leaned back against the closed car door and Root moved with her, an idea occurring to her even as Shaw put a hand out to stop her. Root found Shaw’s hand and the keys in them, unlocked the SUV, then stepped away and opened the back door.

“What’re you doing?” Shaw asked breathlessly. Root smirked and slid onto the bench seat.

“Stay here,” she said, coyly nodding her head to the car. She could tell that Shaw was about to reject the idea and cut her off, sitting forward. “We’re close by in case something happens and no one else is around. And besides, you already feel like a teenager.”

Shaw took a step closer to Root’s knees but wasn’t sold on the idea, looking up at the hotel windows, all of which were dark and empty. Root smirked at her and leaned against the seat casually, waiting her out.

With a grimace of disappointment at her own weakness, Shaw closed the distance between them and stretched to try to kiss Root. Root put a hand on either of Shaw’s shoulders and leaned back, pulling Shaw forward so that she half-fell into the side of the SUV. She saw that she would have to get in the car to get what she wanted and hesitated again.

Root certainly knew how to get her way. And while that was frustrating to Shaw, it was also pretty hot.

She roughly pushed Root further along the bench seat to make room for herself and shut the door behind them.

The space was too small, with seat belts digging into them that would leave bruises. But they forgot about being cold, forgot about the constant arguments and long drives, forgot about the precarious nature of their plan to get rid of Samaritan once and for all. The windows fogged up and shrouded the desperate flurry of movement as they struggled out of their clothes.

——————————

“I’ve never had dreams like that before,” Shaw said quietly.

Root watched her pull her pants on over her hips.

She was calmer than she had been before. Sated. Root liked that Shaw relaxed so much when they were together, and liked the thought that she was integrated into Shaw’s dreams, but she wished that they could linger in the car a while longer. She wanted to curl into Shaw’s naked body and sleep for days.

“I mean, I have. But… not about the same person over and over,” Shaw continued. She was avoiding looking at Root while she spoke. Root recognized this tactic from Sameen. She knew that this made it easier for Shaw to admit things that were bothering her or that were emotional in any way.

Shaw’s comment sank in and Root realized that Shaw was more than admitting that Root was invading her dreams. She was admitting that this was new. That no one else had ever been able to do that before. Not even the other woman, from the mystery that was Shaw’s undocumented life.

“Who was she- the other woman you slept with?” Root asked, and watched Shaw’s hands still on her shoelaces. The shorter woman’s brow furrowed infinitesimally, then she turned with a smirk.

“Why? You jealous?” Shaw asked teasingly.

“Should I be?” Root offered as a retort, hoping her voice didn’t sound too earnest. She wanted to sound like this was all a joke, but if she was being honest with herself, she did feel an unpleasant twinge of jealousy at the thought of some other woman between Shaw’s legs.

“No,” Shaw replied, still smirking a little. Root swiped her hand across the condensation on the inside of the window of the SUV and looked out at the empty parking lot, disappointed that it seemed she wasn’t going to get more of an answer.

Shaw watched Root turn to look out the window and knew that she’d said something wrong, although she wasn’t sure what. She’d hardly said anything at all.

Shaw pulled Root’s shirt from beneath herself and slid down the bench seat towards the quiet woman. She held the shirt out for Root to take, and when Root turned to look at her Shaw pulled the other woman in to kiss her apologetically.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading and leaving comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

The following day, Shaw was in a much better mood.

Root couldn’t help but notice that her attitude seemed greatly improved after their late night tryst in the SUV. Like Root had managed to open a release valve and help her de-pressurize.

And that wasn’t too far off. But it was more than that. It was a renewed feeling of closeness with Root. Root’s kindness was reassuring. And although Sameen wasn’t sure how to show it, or if she wanted to show it at all, she appreciated that Root hadn’t really teased her about her dream. Even if she could never say that, Shaw had realized that she could try to _do_ something for Root in return. She knew that Root wanted her to be less irritable all the time, so she was putting effort into trying not to let things get to her.

For a short while, she’d done an alright job of grinning and bearing it when Divya pestered her.

But after a few days of traveling, her temper was growing exceptionally short again.

Shaw really had managed to ignore the constant needling from Divya for the first day. But they had been in the car for too many hours, and Divya had been annoyingly talkative and intentionally irksome.

Shaw knew that Root could tell that she was at the end of her rope.

“I don’t get why I have to go with you from place to place,” Divya said. Shaw was driving at the time, and Root knew that she was irritated at the mere sound of Divya’s voice. It didn’t even matter what the girl had said, it was a Pavlovian response- hear anything at all from Divya and tense with the expectation that it be something unnecessarily rude.

“We couldn’t leave you there. They knew you were involved, so someone else had to take over,” Root said for the umpteenth time, trying to be reasonable. “Once we’ve ended this you’ll be safe again, but until then-”

“This isn’t _ever_ going to end. There’s no way this plan is going to work,” Divya interrupted. Root glanced back at the girl and then at Shaw, her facial twitches that gave away her frustration.

“It’s going to work,” Root said quietly, turning back to look at Divya long and hard.

“It’s really not. You’re stupid if you think it will. You have _way_ too much faith in random people,” Divya said, staring back. She wasn’t wrong. The plan was pretty insane. Driving around from warehouse to warehouse, looking for a sign from a stranger that the Machine had sent them to help, and laying the groundwork for an explosion to destroy the server hidden there.

Shaw looked so mad that Root could imagine steam coming from her ears.

“No response because you know I’m right,” Divya said, smug and arrogant. Root knew that the girl was going crazy being hauled around and treated like luggage. She was used to being alone and independent, but for the last week she had been forced to be fully reliant on Root and Shaw for most everything, and was never alone. There wasn’t anything else that they could do that would ensure that the girl was safe, so they just had to put up with her trying to get a rise out of them. But Shaw was done with that.

“ _Clearly_ you’re right. I thought you had to have a brain to work on something this important, but _you_ got the job, so obviously I was wrong,” Shaw said. Her knuckles were white, the steering wheel clenched tight in her fists.

“Shaw-” Root started, trying to gently urge her away from giving Divya exactly what she wanted.

“That’s real nice coming from you- you’re just fucking hired muscle,” Divya retorted, cutting Root off. Root looked back in time to see the girl smirk.

“You don’t know anything about me, kid,” Shaw growled. Divya scoffed. Root really wished she hadn’t, because the short sound made Shaw’s hands flexed on the steering wheel.

“Sure I do. I had you pegged within twenty four hours of meeting you,” the girl bragged.

“Yeah? This should be good,” Shaw said, her voice low.

“You act all macho. Like you don’t have feelings. Like this is just a job and you don’t care about anything,” Divya said. Shaw looked at her in the rearview mirror, saw the shit-eating grin spread from ear to ear on the girl’s face. “But you care when I make fun of you. And more than that? You care about _her_.”

Shaw watched Divya tip her head towards Root and felt like she was turning to stone.

She’d thought they’d been careful. She’d thought they were safe.

Divya turned her eyes to Root.

“And I seriously hope that if you live through this, you realize that you can do a lot better than some angry meathead,” Divya continued. “Although I guess I shouldn’t be surprised- it’s pretty obvious that you’ve got a whole handful of screws loose.”

Shaw watched Divya motion with her finger that Root was crazy, saw the smirk deepening on Divya’s face in the rearview mirror, and something inside of her snapped.

“You think you’re tough?” Shaw asked, her eyes narrowed. She abruptly pulled onto the shoulder of the interstate and threw the car into park, unbuckling her seatbelt in a single movement.

“Shaw,” Root said, trying to calm her.

“No, I’m tired of protecting her, and I’m done putting up with her bullshit,” Shaw said, fishing in her waistband. She twisted in the driver’s seat. “You think we’re making your life _so_ hard? I can make it a whole lot harder.”

Root realized what Shaw was doing too late. She had pulled the nano and jabbed it behind her seat, the barrel of the little gun coming to rest directly against the base of Divya’s kneecap. The kid’s smirk disappeared instantly and was replaced by alarm as she tried to recoil and had no place to move to.

“Jesus Christ!” Evans yelped. He had been lurched from his own malaise at the appearance of the weapon, and was immediately pressed against the car door. Shaw ignored him.

“I don’t know what your problem with me is, but whatever shit you’ve concocted in that black hole between your ears ends _now_ ,” Shaw growled, her eyebrows pulled low and tight. She stayed frozen, waiting for Divya to say something. But the girl had been silenced. 

“Sameen,” Root said harshly. Shaw glanced her way, then abruptly turned back around to face the steering wheel and put the gun back in her pants. As quickly as the incident had started, it seemed to end. Shaw put the car back in gear and pulled back onto the road without another word.

——————————

They drove in silence until Root told Shaw to exit the interstate and gave her directions to the latest shitty motel in the latest tiny town. In Texas, only a few hours from the town where Root had been Samantha Groves and had lost her best friend.

Root had spent the remainder of the drive wondering what the hell Shaw had been thinking, and trying to come up with some other way to protect Divya that didn’t involve carting the girl around with them. It was nice to have an extra body to be a lookout, but it wasn’t worth it if they were going to end up shooting each other.

At least her anger at Sameen was a distraction from the fact that they were not too far from Root’s hometown.

“We’re going to go and get food,” Divya said as she gestured to Mike to follow her, her voice softer than usual. She really was just a kid, and Root noticed that she looked startlingly young now- with eyes as big as soup spoons. She had gotten used to getting away with things and suddenly, she had been faced by the unpredicted consequences of her actions.

“ _You_ do it,” Mike said, sullen. He had no sympathy for her, and Root realized that he too was tired of her trying to pick fights all the time.

“I think you should come with me,” Divya told him, trying to catch his eye to impress upon him the importance that he do what she was encouraging. “We’re supposed to stay together, remember?”

Finally he looked at her, and at the worry on her face he then looked up at the other two. Shaw was pacing at the other end of the room, and Root was trying to ignore her, looking towards Mike and Divya. She was too angry with Shaw for having pulled a gun on Divya, too annoyed that Divya had thrown the relationship or whatever the hell it was that she had with Shaw into one of her little fits, and too tired of feeling like the referee for their battles.

Mike picked his recently discarded coat up, looking depressed as he trailed after Divya out of the hotel room with the car keys.

As soon as they were alone, Root rounded on Shaw.

“Are you insane?” she asked bitterly.

“I will be if I have to listen to her complain any more,” Shaw retorted.

“I know she’s annoying, but she’s a kid, and you’re an adult. So start acting like one,” Root said, frustrated. Shaw paused in pacing and looked at Root with fury burning in her eyes.

“You hear the way she talks to me. You’ve seen how she acts. I don’t care if she’s a fucking _princess_ , we need to ditch her.”

“We are not _ditching_ her. She doesn’t have anybody,” Root said, terse. “So until we either finish this or the Machine helps us find someone she can stay with where she’ll be safe, she comes with us.”

“We can leave her _here_. By herself, for all I care. You saw that. Even _Evans_ is tired of her,” Shaw said, pointing towards the closed door, her voice beginning to raise. “Why aren’t you mad at _him_?”

“Because Mike didn’t pull a gun on her,” Root yelled, exasperated.

“I wouldn’t have threatened her if she wasn’t such an asshole all the time. She _should_ be left alone so no one has to put up with her crap,” Shaw yelled back.

“You know, being alone may not seem like a big deal to _you_ , but other people need to know that they’re cared about.”

It was a cruel thing to say. Especially now, when she could tell that for days Shaw was biting her tongue. Root didn’t really mean it, and wished she could reel the words back in. But she didn’t wish it enough to apologize. In the heat of the argument, Root wanted Sameen to hurt.

Shaw glared, absorbing the impact of the blow.

“You think I don’t care?” Shaw said. The words were icy, menacing. “I wouldn’t have tracked you all over the country if I didn’t care. I wouldn’t have given you the medal _at all_.”

Root was trying to keep up with Shaw’s train of thought but she felt like she’d missed something. The way she’d said ‘at all’ had snagged in Root’s mind.

“I wouldn’t have even kept the damn thing in the first place,” Shaw was enraged, her lip pulling into a sneer.

Root felt like she was moving in slow motion.

All of the time spent wondering how it was that Shaw had found her, she had thought that it was a mistake that she herself had made that allowed her to be tracked down. She couldn’t figure out what it was that had revealed her location, and how Sameen could have used whatever mistake it was to come and find her.

She had switched burner phones, switched vehicles, ditched wallets and credit cards, avoided security cameras at gas stations, and never mentioned where she was or what sort of places she was sneaking into. But somehow, despite all of her efforts, Shaw had found her.

And that had baffled Root.

Until this moment. Shaw’s anger-fueled words, unplanned and unrehearsed, made Root take pause.

She reached up and pulled the medal off over her head from where it rested inside of her shirt. Looking down at the disk in her palm, she realized that it was the only thing she always kept with her.

Sameen could see that Root was absorbing what she’d said and was going to come to a realization at any moment.

 _Fuck_ , Shaw thought, trying to think of anything at all to say that would divert Root’s attention.

Root kept telling herself that Shaw couldn’t possibly have done what Root was now guessing, even as she turned the medal over in her hand, then pulled at the ribbon.

Her heartbeat was a deep kick drum, reverberating in her fingertips that found a small rectangular chip between the two sides of the ribbon and removed it. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger and felt her mouth go dry as she saw that it was a GPS tracker and a microphone.

She looked up at Sameen.

Shaw’s jaw flexed as she clenched her teeth, staring Root down although inside, there were wild fire alarms and sirens going off. She could see the betrayal and revulsion in Root’s face.

Root was at a loss for what to say, too horrified to speak.

“You-” she started, and then gasped what might have been a laugh.

“I had to know that you were safe,” Shaw said finally, terse. Root closed her hand on the transmitter tighter and tighter, until her fingers ached, then she threw it at Shaw, watching it bounce off of Sameen’s legs to the floor.

“ _They_ could have hacked it. They could have been following us this entire time,” she yelled, her voice shaking.

“They _didn’t_. We’re here, aren’t we?” Shaw said. “And they’re not.”

“You don’t know that. They could be watching us right now. You put a _bug_ on me. You were- you-” Root sputtered, unable to put into words the disgust that she felt. She had been manipulated. Shaw had used Root’s feelings against her. But Root couldn’t even bring herself to say those words. “You listened to everything, and you pretended that you didn’t know what was happening.”

“It was the only way I _could_ know what was happening,” Shaw said.

“You could have _asked_ ,” Root replied, her voice breaking.

“You wouldn’t have told me,” Shaw immediately spat back, resentful.

“Because it wasn’t safe,” Root cried, feeling her eyes burn with embarrassment. She chucked the Order of Lenin at Shaw as hard as she could, watching her fumble to catch it. When she spoke again, her words were dripping with venom. “Take your medal, Sameen. I don’t want it.”

She turned and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind herself.

Root felt like she was suffocating. Like she couldn’t breath and the world was greying around the edges. She slid down the wall and rested her head against the tiles.

She had trusted Shaw. And Shaw hadn’t trusted her in return.

Sameen was a wild card. Unpredictable. Just as Root had always warned herself. The shorter woman would always be the kind of person who leapt before she looked: planting a tracker on someone for the sake of efficiency, pulling a gun without warning, looking for a fight to blow off steam.

And if Shaw kept up the shit that she’d been doing recently, they’d all be dead long before they stopped Samaritan.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if she was talking to the Machine or to Shaw or to herself. Didn’t really know for sure what ‘we’ and what ‘this’ she meant. She wasn’t even sure that the Machine could hear her.

She tried to find the solitude calming, but now that she was alone she wished that she wasn’t. And she already missed the reassuring weight of the Order of Lenin. She missed the feeling that went with it- the feeling that Shaw cared, and was connected to her even when she wasn’t there. She hadn’t known just how connected Shaw really was. She hadn’t known that the whole damn thing was a way to surveil her.

Root stayed in the bathroom for a long time.

When she emerged, there was no sign of Shaw. The medal was on the bedside table, but when Root looked for the tracker, she couldn’t find it.

Eventually Divya and Mike returned, and seemed to know better than to ask where Shaw had gone. Root wondered if Sameen would be back. They would have to move on in the morning, and now that the tracker was gone, Root doubted that Shaw would be able to find them again.

Root hated that sitting with Mike and Divya, eating crappy takeout in a darkened motel room, she was reminded of being in the subway where the boys would bring food to Shaw and they would all eat together. But she wasn’t with any of them now, and she resented the two people who hadn’t asked to be a part of this.

——————————

Shaw was a half hour drive away from the hotel where she’d left Root. She’d stolen a car, stopped at a hardware store, and headed out of town (if it could be called a town).

It was another chilly night, and she walked out into a dark field in rural Louisiana feeling strange.

She didn’t feel bad about threatening Divya, if she was honest. The girl had been being increasingly offensive with her comments. Sure, it had started out with accusing Shaw of driving too fast or Root of driving too slowly, and that wasn’t too bad. But once Sameen had set her mind to ignoring the girl, it had gotten progressively worse. Divya complained about the beds in the motels, found every single meal repulsive, and made fun of the way that even when she didn’t like the decision being made, Sameen always deferred to Root when it came to forming a plan for stops they made.

Then Divya had started to attack _Root_. And when Root didn’t defend herself, it made Shaw’s blood boil.

Once she was quite a distance from the road and had reach a stand of trees, she stopped and put down the bag she was carrying, holding a little flashlight between her teeth so she could see what she was doing.

She also didn’t really feel bad about putting a bug on Root. Embarrassed? Sure. Guilty? Not particularly.

It was like John had once told her, when she helped him break out of jail so they could go after Root and Harold. He’d lost people before, so when he cared about someone, he planted a tracking device on them.

That was where the embarrassment came in- she really _did_ care about Root.

And while it had been an efficient way to keep track of Root’s location, Shaw recognized that there was something deeper in giving the taller woman the Order of Lenin. It was an urge to feel closer to Root. An urge to show Root that she cared. That no matter what happened, Shaw would be with her.

 _When did I become this person_ , she wondered yet again. She didn’t know if she would ever stop wondering this. 

She glared at her own hands as she placed the tracking chip on a large flat rock on the ground, then pulled out the newly-purchased wireless drill. With a whir, she drilled a hole through the plastic chip, watching it crack and break under the drill bit until she ground into the stone beneath it.

If anyone _had_ been listening or watching Root, they certainly couldn’t anymore.

A long while later, Shaw stood up and headed back towards the car with her hands shoved deep into her pockets, somehow both empty from exhaustion and cold, and filled to bursting with worry that Root wouldn’t forgive her.

——————————

There was a phone ringing. Incessant and unfamiliar. It slowly drifted into Root’s subconscious, almost fully waking her before it finally went silent.

She wondered who could be calling.

The thin ray of light coming in under the crappy floral draperies told Root that it must be early morning.

Then the phone started up again, and after two rings, Root wondered if it could be Shaw calling. Maybe she was in trouble. Maybe Samaritan had found her and she was being held as a prisoner. Maybe she had been killed.

Root opened her eyes and right as she was about to sit up and look for the source of the noise, it stopped mid-ring. She heard a small, tinny voice through the phone.

“Yeah, Harold, we’re all fine. Just needed to ditch the tracking device,” Shaw replied, quiet and sleepy. Root felt her entire body go rigid at the sound of Sameen’s voice. She realized that Shaw must have come back sometime in the night. It had to have been extremely late, as Root herself had been awake for hours, unable to sleep.

“Oh thank goodness,” Harold told Sameen, relieved. She got out of bed where she’d been sleeping fitfully on the very edge of the mattress, and grabbed her coat from the desk. She was still wearing the same clothes she’d worn yesterday because she hadn’t wanted to wake up Root when she came back.

She walked outside, annoyed that Finch had been keeping an eye on them, although she supposed that wasn’t fair. It had been her bug in the first place.

“What happened? Have you seen them? Are they onto you?” Harold asked.

“No, nothing like that,” she told him, hanging her coat over the railing and looking down from their second floor room at the parking lot below.

“Okay,” Harold said, drawing out the word to show that he was frustrated with her for not saying anything more.

There was a family down below, two towheaded little boys watching their dad shove over-filled suitcases into the trunk of a minivan while their mother buckled their toddler sister into a carseat. Shaw tried to avoid looking at them, but their smiles and contentedness was magnetic. She couldn’t stop herself from being drawn back to look at them.

When she still didn’t elaborate, Harold tried another tactic. “Miss Shaw, forgive me for being over-bearing, but you have to understand that it’s alarming to leave the subway believing that you’re safely on your way to your next lodging, and to check in the next morning to find that you’ve disappeared off of the map.”

She couldn’t win. No matter what she did, it seemed like _someone_ got annoyed with her. And as much as she didn’t want Harold’s nose deeper in her business than it already was, she supposed telling him the truth was the best way to reassure him that they were fine. She thought of Root throwing the medal at her and slamming the bathroom door in her face. Well, maybe they weren’t _fine_ , but they were _safe_.

“She found it,” Shaw mumbled.

“I didn’t quite catch-”

“I said _she found it_ , Harold,” Sameen repeated, anger tingeing her words. She didn’t want to have to keep saying it. He was quiet, and she sighed.

“I see,” Finch said. She could feel his sympathy through the phone and ground her teeth.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, and I’ll keep you updated on where we are, okay?” she told him.

After they hung up, she stood leaning forward, picking peeling paint off of the railing that she was leaning against.

One of the boys by the minivan glanced up and spotted her looking down at them. She squirmed in his gaze, feeling even more surly than before. His face turned fearful as he ducked behind his dad, and she looked at her hands. She stole another glance in time to see the father giving her a wary look as he closed the trunk and shepherded his kids into the back of the vehicle.

She turned to go back inside, feeling uncomfortably sorry for herself. Once upon a time, she would have relished making an entire family afraid of her without lifting a finger. Now she felt like a monster.

She went back inside the motel room and found Root sitting with her laptop. They looked at one another, speechless and angry, and Shaw watched Root give her a once-over.

Root wondered where Shaw had gone the night before. The shorter woman was wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing when they fought, but there was dirt on her knees and mud caked onto her boots.

Without a word, Shaw turned away and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind herself.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading the theories and thoughts you guys have! I'm always tempted to give you hints about what's coming, but you guys are so smart that I'm afraid you'd figure things out... and that's no fun!
> 
> I'm going to try to make sure that the next chapter gets posted next Thursday, but I may not have wifi/a way of posting that ensures everything is formatted correctly. If that happens, I 100% promise that I'll post as soon as I get back to the real world on Sunday.

Late the following night, Shaw drove the SUV across yet another state line. Any optimism from knowing that they were almost at the bottom of the list of server locations had worn off since the fight with Root, and now Shaw was only desperate to get to their final destinations.

They were all virtually silent now. They had taken care of another of the many Samaritan server storehouses earlier in the day, and Root and Shaw had managed to go through the entire process without ever speaking to one another.

At least they were heading to warmer weather.

Unsurprisingly, this part of the country’s interstates were two lanes each direction, separated by grass or trees more often than not. It was eery to be driving through the dark and see the speckled light of cars approaching on the other side of the wooded median. She wasn’t actually sure it could be called a median when it was fifty meters across.

She glanced to her right and saw that at some point, Root had dozed off. She was leaning against the passenger side window, and even when she was asleep, Shaw could see the worry written in her face.

In the rearview mirror, Shaw could see that Evans and Divya were asleep as well. Sameen had thought it would be easier once everyone else fell asleep. But now, stealing another glance over at Root, she just felt… sad.

Light shone through the windshield and Shaw looked forward once more. It had been a long time since they’d passed another vehicle but they were getting relatively close to a town, so it wasn’t all that surprising to spot another car on the road.

It was driving just under the speed limit, so she signaled and moved into the left lane to pass. As she got close and her headlights shone inside of the pickup truck ahead of her, the slower car swerved away from her suddenly.

Shaw let up on the gas to give the truck some space. It sped up some and began to weave between the two lanes, then drifted towards the side of the road as if it were stopping. Sameen took the opportunity to pass, assuming that the driver was tired or under the influence and intimidated by the presence of another vehicle.

As she accelerated and began to pass, the truck swung back towards her.

“ _Shit_ ,” she cursed and slammed on the brakes as the pickup very nearly hit them. Shaw’s arm flew out like she could somehow protect Root as their tires squealed on the pavement. The truck jerked back the other direction and braked hard, plowing straight off the road and down the sloped shoulder of the interstate until it came to a crunching halt against a tree.

Shaw and the others were all frozen in their car, stopped at an angle across the two lanes.

“What happened?” Root asked. Shaw couldn’t move at first, her arm still stiff across Root’s chest, then she pulled off of the road and put the SUV in park.

“We should call 911,” Evans said, pulling out his phone.

“No,” Shaw quickly said, opening her car door. When she turned to look at him she was met with disgust from both his face and Divya’s. “I’ll call from his phone.”

She shut the driver’s door behind herself and started to carefully pick her way down the hill, using their SUV’s headlights to see.

Her shadow stretched out into the trees, ethereal and vaguely menacing.

She heard another door of the SUV open and shut, then a second shadow joined her own.

When the light from their car was blocked, she slid on the steep incline and half-fell back into the dirt, getting up and brushing her hands off without stopping.

She reached the pickup truck and heard a man groaning.

“God damn,” his words were slurred and thickly southern.

 _At least he’s conscious_ , she thought to herself. The airbag was deflating in front of him when Shaw opened the door of the truck, and he winced, trying to look up at her in the dark. 

“What the fuck?”

“Can you unbuckle your seatbelt?” Shaw asked. He blinked slowly and then looked down at himself.

“Yeah,” he told her, but didn’t move to do so. “My truck’s… I fucked up my truck.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Shaw murmured, reaching across his lap and fumbling to find the buckle of the seatbelt. He reeked of alcohol. She found the plastic fastener and pushed it.

A wet hand wrapped around her arm.

 _Shit_ , she thought, _He’s bleeding_.

“Is he ok? The whole front end is destroyed.”

It was Root that had followed behind her. Shaw didn’t answer her. She couldn’t let herself think about the woman behind her because it was too distracting.

Sameen reached over the man and clicked on the overhead light, looked down at the truck’s driver, and was surprised that he didn’t look all that banged up. His clothes were wet, but not with blood. He looked down at his lap, and then began to look around the truck’s cab.

“Do you have a phone? We need to call an ambulance,” Shaw told him. Just because he didn’t have any big, obvious external wounds didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt.

“Where’s my whiskey?” he asked, the word whiskey exiting his mouth with a little whistle. Shaw saw that on the cramped second row of seats, a nearly empty bottle was laying on its side. That was what was on him and now on her arm. Not blood.

She shook her head in dismay, then saw a cellphone on the dashboard.

Behind her, Root watched Shaw moving, wondering if there was something she could do to help the shorter woman as she gave the driver a quick once-over to make sure there was nothing obvious wrong with him that she could stabilize.

There was something incredibly appealing about watching Sameen work. She was efficient. And despite being overly brusk with her would-be patient, she wasn’t careless. 

There was a long smudge of dirt on Sameen’s pants where she’d fallen on her way down the hill, and Root’s heart caught in her throat, thinking of the icy stare they had exchanged early that morning, when she’d realized that Sameen had come back sometime in the night. Root wanted to ask where she’d gone that had left her with dirt on her knees and mud on her shoes, but hadn’t. She knew that they were both too angry to have a remotely productive conversation. So instead, they’d sunken into constant, tense silence, and she didn’t know how to break it.

It was a problem, because she was angry about enough things that she wasn’t sure what she should reasonably be mad about anymore.

“Move,” the word came through in Root’s ear and caused her to intake a breath suddenly. She hadn’t heard from the Machine in a long while. Her gasp caused Shaw to turn quickly, concern clear in her eyes.

“We can't stay here,” Root said quietly, blinking and looking away from Shaw.

Without a word, Shaw dialed 911 on the cellphone, put it on speaker, and put it into the guy’s hand.

“You need to tell them you had a car accident and tell them you’re on Interstate 20 near Rayville. Okay?” He grunted in reply.

“Move,” the Machine repeated.

“We need to hurry,” Root said, urging Shaw to turn. When Sameen saw that Root was hearing from the Machine, she abandoned the man in the truck, following Root back up the dark hillside into the glare of the headlights of the SUV.

——————————

They drove silently through the night, and stopped in the morning near Birmingham, Alabama at the Machine’s request. When they pulled into the over-sized parking lot of an enormous outdoor shop, perched on top of a hill, Shaw’s eyes narrowed with distaste.

“She wants to make sure we have ammo,” Root relayed, avoiding looking Shaw in the eye because even after the hours of quiet, she wasn’t sure how to feel. Sameen had unthinkingly thrown an arm out to protect Root the night before, and they didn’t need to speak to one another about it to know that they both recognized it as meaningful: it didn’t matter if they weren’t on speaking terms, Shaw would always jump to protect Root.

They went inside the gigantic store, Divya and Evans opting to stay in the car, and Root could feel the judgment coming off of Sameen in waves at the entire place. There was camouflage everywhere, an entire section devoted to small boats and jet skis, and taxidermy littering the spaces between fishing rods and camping tents.

Shaw looked with narrowed eyes at a stuffed bobcat, its teeth bared.

“Kind of reminds me of you,” Root teased. Shaw wasn’t sure if the tone was mean-spirited or playful, and tightened her jaw.

“I don’t like taxidermy,” Shaw muttered, more to herself than to Root. It had always been unsettling to her. She disliked the idea of killing something that didn’t stand a chance against an over-powered weapon that it didn’t see coming, then arranging it to look fierce and _alive_ after it had been broken down and emptied.

Root gave her a sarcastic pout, and Shaw scowled and shoved past her, picking up her pace.

 _Fuck this_ , she thought to herself, making a beeline towards the counter along the back wall, where all manner of guns were on display.

Root let Shaw body check her as she passed, and felt a little bad for having mocked her. She had just wanted them to start talking again. She looked up at the bobcat that Sameen had reacted to and wondered at its frozen snarl. Honestly, she didn’t get the appeal either. It was baffling to think that humans were so conceited and self-righteous that they struck down an animal this strong and turned it into a statue. A ghost of a memory of its past self.

By the time that Root followed Shaw to the back of the store, Sameen was already talking to the man behind the counter. He was portly, with thin-rimmed glasses that were too small for his face, making his eyes look beadier than they would have already.

He was grinning down at Shaw like he thought she was interested in him, but when Root got fairly close she saw that Sameen’s eyes were steady on the gun case in front of her. She had already picked up a couple boxes of ammo and was looking over the hand guns on the other side of the glass like a kid in a candy store, greedy excitement shining in her eyes as she eyed one of the more compact weapons.

“That’s a good one for you- you look a whole lot more city girl than hunter,” the salesman (Brett, his name tag said) told Shaw in what Root was sure he thought was a seductive voice.

Shaw tipped her head back and spotted an extremely powerful automatic rifle behind the salesman.

“Can I look that one,” she asked, motioning with her chin up at the gun, and Brett chuckled when he turned and saw what she was looking at.

“Aren’t you a little small for something that big?” he asked. Root didn’t like where this was heading. Sameen’s eyes locked onto his, warning him, but he didn’t take the hint.

“You know, if you need to be taught how to handle a gun, I’d be happy to help,” he continued, his words thick with innuendo. He was thoroughly pleased with himself.

Shaw’s upper lip twitched, just enough for Root to picture the bobcat on the shelf.

Root needed to shut this down now, before Shaw got any more angry. She stepped forward with an especially condescending smirk, putting a hand on either of Shaw’s shoulders and leaning over her, into her back.

“Believe me, she knows everything she needs to about guns,” Root said, her nose wrinkling at Brett. His own smirk twisted in distaste. “And even if she didn’t? I can tell you from _experience_ that she definitely doesn’t need one to get the job done.”

Shaw wanted to be mad that Root had intervened, but when she felt the heat of Root’s body so close behind her and heard the smirk in her voice, her resolve wavered. The fact that Root’s manipulative actions were pissing off Brett was the icing on the cake.

“Let’s go pay for these, sweetie,” Root said, coyly reaching around Shaw to pick up the boxes of ammo. Shaw felt a searing burn in her chest and stomach and let herself be led away from the counter.

“Fucking dykes.” Brett’s words were spat at their backs.

Root grabbed onto Shaw’s wrist with a grip like a vice, keeping Shaw’s hand from her waistband where Root knew she had the nano tucked away. But Shaw still managed to turn them both around again to give Brett a look that Root could only call ball-shriveling.

In Root’s ear, there was a short, scolding message from the Machine.

Root glanced up and saw a security camera watching them from above the gun counter.

“We need to go,” she said, and looked away when Shaw turned her nasty glare on her. Shaw pulled her hand away from Root and gave the salesman one last dirty look before ripping the boxes of ammo from Root’s other hand and heading to the registers.

“Avoid detection,” the Machine told her. Root took a shuddering breath.

“Don’t put us in situations like that if you don’t want us to fight back,” she told Her, slowly following Shaw, who was already quite a distance ahead. The Machine began to formulate a plan and as Root listened to the limited details she was being given, she realized that the Machine was trying to _split them up_. To send them _different places_. Quickly, without thinking, she interrupted. “I can’t not be near her.”

It wasn’t fair for the Machine to tell her not to defend Shaw, but she also felt silly for talking back to the Machine. What She said went. Always.

She was met by silence, as if the Machine was thinking about this, and stood near the cash registers looking at a shelf of granola bars without processing any of it, too concerned about what the Machine seemed to want from her.

Shaw looked up as she finished paying, caught Root’s eye, and started to head outside without saying another word. Root followed, her heart in her throat.

“Acknowledged,” the Machine said, “Assessing options.”

Root hadn’t expected to hear anything more from Her, and was taken aback. She didn’t know what it meant.

——————————

Root was filling the car with gas while Divya and Evans had gone into the convenience store to pay for their gas in cash and get them drinks and some food. Shaw had gotten out of the driver’s seat, and Root was focused on the task at hand, expecting that Shaw was going to walk around and stretch her legs like she normally did.

What Root had heard from the Machine an hour ago was still bothering her. She didn’t know what they were going to be told to do next, and even though she and Shaw were in the uncomfortable position of not really speaking to one another, she didn’t want to be apart.

“Elaine.”

Root looked up in time to watch Shaw hunch her shoulders against the chill and shove her hands deeper into her pockets.

It turned out that Sameen had not gone for a walk. In fact, she’d actually stuck close by and was now leaning against the hood of the SUV.

“Sorry?” Root asked. Sameen nodded and looked off across the expanse of concrete towards the interstate, then took a few steps along the side of the car slowly so she was closer to Root, steadying herself with deep breaths.

“The girl I slept with. Her name was Elaine,” Shaw shook her head and shrugged, “Is Elaine, I guess.”

Root wanted to make a biting comment asking if now really seemed like the best time to talk about this, but kept her mouth shut. Shaw didn’t know what the Machine had started to plan. Plus, Root was curious to hear what Shaw had to say and didn’t want her to clam up.

“We went to high school together and then I uh, I didn’t see her for a few years. Then we ended up in the same med school class,” Shaw continued, looking past the gas pump, her eyes narrowed. “Small world and all that.”

Root watched in silence as Shaw leaned against the car and chewed on her lip. They made eye contact and Root raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“I hadn’t ever really thought about her like that in high school.”

Shaw hunched her shoulders and looked at her feet when a gust of wind blew around them. Her gut ached, trying to explain to Root who this person had been, years ago.

“Didn’t think about anybody like that, really. But she was…” Shaw paused, tipped her chin to one side, and Root could see the hint of a smile on her face as their eyes met again. Sameen shrugged, unable to come up with a way to finish her thought.

She felt embarrassed to tell Root that what Elaine had been was attractive. That between high school and med school, Elaine had lost the prep school bimbo act. That Sameen would linger and un-tape her hands before she’d left the gym post-workout just to look in the long mirrors to Elaine’s blond pony tail, whipping from side to side when she ran on the treadmill, a sheen of sweat on her lily-white skin.

The fact that Elaine had just been hot was sort of the point, but she couldn’t bring herself to say so, and she knew Root wanted more than that.

“First time we had sex, we were drunk. I’d already decided that I wanted to sleep with her,” the smile had grown a bit. “She said she’d already decided too, but she was nervous or something.”

Root couldn’t help but smile back a little at this. Of course Shaw didn’t understand why this other woman, Elaine, would be nervous about sex.

“It was good. It was a tension release. Medical school is stressful,” Shaw said. “We didn’t really know what we were doing at first, but we figured it out. Practice makes perfect.”

Root found herself enjoying the smug smirk on Shaw’s face that said she knew how good she was at what she did. Then the smirk faded, and Shaw blinked.

“What happened?” Root asked.

Shaw looked away, trying not to lose steam now that she’d started telling Root.

“We both went home for Thanksgiving, and uh… Well we lived close. And my mom and I never really did much for Thanksgiving- there were just the two of us, so… it didn’t seem like there was a point,” she chewed on her lip again, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “And then, Elaine wanted to come over and see me.”

Root was pretty sure she knew where this was going- Elaine had wanted something that Shaw couldn’t give. She couldn’t tell if Shaw was going to fill in the blanks, so Root was readying herself to offer an apology.

Shaw sighed heavily.

“She was all worked up about her family or something, so I said yes. I told her to come in through the garage,” she scratched at her forehead to, stalling. “My mom’s… traditional, and I didn’t want her to ask questions. I thought she could sneak in and out with my mom none the wiser. But uh…”

Shaw exhaled a little humorless laugh, gesturing awkwardly and then letting her arm fall to her side.

“My mom walked in on us. Chucked her out. It was a- it was a big thing. And then Elaine was mad that I didn’t defend her or something. I don’t know. Neither of us wanted a relationship. I don’t know what she expected,” Shaw said. “Anyway, I left school not too long after that. Went into the Marines.”

Root imagined Shaw, naked, her head between some girl’s legs, and the appalled look on her mother’s face.

And she knew that Shaw had probably been angry about the whole thing. Or worse- indifferent.

“Did you love her?” Root asked. She didn’t know why she’d asked that question. She knew better than to expect anything but derision from Shaw in response.

“No,” Shaw said, unperturbed. “I did care about her, I think, but… not enough.”

Root nodded and watched Shaw tuck her bottom lip inside of her mouth, between her teeth.

“Not as much as I cared about me,” said Sameen. The shorter woman tried to smile, but it looked weak and forced.

Root was dumbfounded by this honesty. It was entirely unlike Shaw.

At the same moment, the car finished filling with gas and the Machine spoke in Root’s ear.

“Assessment complete. Option two thousand, one hundred and seventy eight. Active.”

The words came haltingly, without further explanation. Root looked out across the parking lot for Divya and Evans, concerned, and Shaw followed suit, picking up on the sudden tension.

“What?” Shaw asked, and when Root saw that the shorter woman had one hand on her gun, tucked into the waistband of her pants, she felt a soft surge of irritation at Shaw.

“The Machine has a new plan. But…” Root shook her head, worried, “She’s not saying what it is.”


	45. Chapter 45

“Is this it?” Root asked the Machine, surprised and disbelieving.

She started to put the car in reverse to pull away, thinking that she must have misunderstood, when the Machine replied.

“Affirmative.”

“There’s a server here?” Evans asked quietly from the back.

“Zero threats,” the Machine said into Root’s ear.

“I don’t think so,” Root told Mike.

She carefully composed herself into a relaxed posture and watched as a security guard exited the booth beside the wide, elaborately decorated wrought iron gate and made his way towards them.

Shaw’s hand moved to her waist, and Root put out a hand to slow her.

The security guard gave them a friendly smile as Root rolled down the window.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Checking in?” the man said, his drawl not unpleasant. The Machine fed her a name and Root repeated it aloud.

“Eastley.”

She watched him look at a clipboard, running his finger along the page. Although it was only a few seconds, it felt like hours. Her hand drifted towards her own gun. His eyebrows raised a hair and he tapped his finger against the page in front of him.

“Here it is- Cara Eastley. You’re goin’ to head on through this gate and follow the driveway on up to the side of the estate. The concierge will meet you and show you where to park,” he said, looking curiously at the whole group of them, as if he were trying to suss them out.

“Thank you,” Root said with a pleasant smile.

“Thank _you_ , ma’am. You have a pleasant stay, and uh…” he looked into the back seat at Mike and then flicked his eyes to Root, “Congratulations.”

He waved them on as he hit a button and the gate swung open.

“Congratulations?” Shaw parroted suspiciously once they were well past him, following the long driveway as it wove across the property towards an enormous red brick hotel, hidden from the road by rolling hills.

A room at this place had to cost well over five times what they had paid on other nights.

They reached the front of the building and a petite blonde woman with a pixie cut stood waiting for them with a smile on her face. She gestured for them to park and then started to open their doors for them to get out of the car.

They were decidedly under-dressed for the place. The concierge was in a tailored suit, with graceful makeup, and they were all exhausted and bedraggled, dressed for function instead of form. The woman seemed surprised by this, and by the fact that Shaw stopped her from opening the trunk, insisting they would take care of most of it later.

“Welcome,” she greeted them once they were all out of the vehicle. Root could sense that she was expecting a more positive, excited response from their group, and smiled at her. This earned her the majority of the woman’s attention, her bright smile assuming closeness. Like she knew Root, or wanted to. She surveyed the other three with interest and then looked back to Root.

“I see that you have two rooms-” the woman continued.

“I am _not_ going with her,” Divya interrupted, nodding at Shaw with a mixture of fear and anger, then locking her eyes on Root.

“Yeah? The feeling’s mutual,” Shaw grumbled back, then caught Root’s annoyed glance and pursed her lips. The woman’s eyebrows were raised in amused confusion.

Mike gave Root a sidelong look of concern.

“You and Divya will stay together,” Root told him, and watched him visibly relax. She knew that he thought Divya was a pain in the ass. But Root also knew that while she, herself, had constantly worried him when they were first thrust into the unpleasant situation of traveling all over the country, Shaw _terrified_ him. Root could tell he was too afraid even to say that he didn’t want to be left alone with Shaw. And that meant that it was a given that she and Shaw would be together, regardless of any unresolved tension between them.

Besides, Root thought as she looked up at the old red brick building then out across the manicured lawn, she was pretty certain that was what the Machine wanted. Root wasn’t sure how to feel about this as the Machine’s answer to her pleading.

“My apologies, but- you have a room with a garden view and the honeymoon suite, correct?” the smiling woman asked, looking at her notes. Root’s eyes snapped back to the concierge, who was worried that she’d somehow made a mistake.

Okay. So that explained the ‘Congratulations.’

“Sounds like my friend who booked our rooms for us has a sense of humor,” Root said, doing her best to sound pleasant, when really her body was vibrating with anxiety. As if on cue, she and Sameen made eye contact. Sameen was understandably wary.

The Machine had definitely planned this. And ‘this’ seemed to be an attempt either to play matchmaker or to make a point that Root and Shaw needed to be separated. It wasn’t unusual for the Machine to play this sort of game with Root. Harold had taught Her by giving her scenarios and forcing Her to make decisions, so now She did the same to Root. There was also the possibility that the Machine was trying to appease Root before sending her to do something truly horrible, but _that_ wasn’t really in Her wheelhouse.

Inside, the foyer was pleasantly warm but a little too stuffy for Root’s taste, although she hadn’t expected anything else from an old southern estate turned hotel. The four of them followed the concierge across the room to a sweeping staircase.

Divya was looking unpleasant and carrying very little. Root knew that the girl had been shot, but she also knew that this was Divya’s only remaining means of a power play. She could tell that it was making Shaw annoyed, eyes narrowed on Divya’s back, because Mike had a small bag of clothes they’d collected for the girl over his shoulder along with a bag of his own things.

They left Divya and Mike at their room and followed the blond woman on to the second room. The concierge opened the door for them and smiled at Root again before leaving.

As soon as the door shut, Shaw dropped the duffel bag from her hand with a heavy thud and the dulled clank of hidden weapons.

It was a spacious room, with a coffee table and long sofa near the door, and a four-poster bed made of dark, intricately carved wood, facing large windows that looked out over rolling hills and trees just beginning to put out new leaves.

The room was quiet. Incredibly so.

Root wanted to go into the bathroom to escape the suffocating silence and splash some water on her face. She realized then that all but the toilet was open to the bedroom, and her face flushed.

It was certainly a honeymoon suite. The artwork on the walls was romantic and pastoral, and each of the bedside tables held a vase of winter flowers. Root knew that once upon a time, the Machine might have offered up a name for the plants when asked. Now, She was silent.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Sameen said, cutting through the tense hush. Root shook her head and rolled her eyes at Shaw’s back. It wasn’t the sort of sofa that should be slept on. An antique, by the looks of it, with spindly wooden arms and stiff cushions that Root could tell had no give. And even if it had been a more comfortable couch, it was ridiculous for Sameen to avoid sharing the king size bed.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said when Shaw didn’t turn around. Sameen didn’t reply.

——————————

They stayed silent for a while, Shaw making trips to the car to take stock of their weapons more as a way to have something to do than because she felt it necessary. Once she’d finished that busy work, she told Root she was going to go and run. Without further ado, she left.

Root worked on the laptop for a while, hoping that Shaw would come back.

 

But eventually, Root found herself unable to stay in the room any longer. She walked down the long, curving stairwell feeling muted.

“Are you enjoying your stay, Ms Eastley?” the concierge asked as Root headed towards the doors. She looked up and saw that it was the same woman as before, smiling with white, straight teeth. Root laughed as if they were sharing an inside joke.

“The _room_ is lovely,” she said. The woman picked up on the undertone.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“My company is less than ideal,” Root joked. The blond nodded understandingly and her smiled turned sympathetic.

Root disliked the pitying look.

“Is there a restaurant nearby that you’d recommend?” Root asked, maneuvering the conversation back away from Shaw. The woman glanced around the lobby and leaned over the desk, towards Root.

“Technically, I’m supposed to recommend the hotel’s restaurant,” she said quietly. “But it’s over-priced and the food is mediocre. Personally? I really like the bar two blocks south. It’s cheap, and the fried green tomatoes are to die for.”

Root smiled warmly.

“Thank you very much,” she paused, glancing down at the concierge’s name tag, “Joanna.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy,” the concierge said, nodding and smiling.

——————————

Root watched out the window of the bar as people passed on the sidewalk.

The sun was setting, glowing orange and pink, and she had been nursing her second drink for the better part of an hour. She had found the place that Joanna, the concierge, had directed her to, but hadn’t ordered food because she was too unsettled to be hungry.

She’d been long lost in thought when a plate was placed in front of her. She was so deeply involved in her own musings on what the Machine’s full plan could be that she didn’t even notice the food for a moment. When it did catch her attention, she looked at the plate of tomatoes and then up, preparing to explain that she hadn’t ordered them.

“I didn’t-”

But instead of meeting the eye of the college-aged waiter with his side-swept bangs, she found Joanna smiling down at her.

“Order any food? I know. My friend’s the bartender,” Joanna said. Root looked her over. She had traded in her stiff concierge uniform for a flannel shirt and close-fitting jeans. “But you seemed like you could use a good meal.”

Root raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“So… you see guests outside of the hotel and you still have to play hostess?” Root asked teasingly. The blond grinned, but before she could reply, a man that she evidently knew approached her happily, and the woman was dragged away to talk to some other people sitting at the bar. Root looked out the window again without touching the food in front of her, her mind immediately finding its way to Shaw and the Machine once more.

Later, Joanna came back.

“Careful. If you don’t at least _try_ them, I might get offended,” her voice cut through Root’s thoughts, which would have been annoying if she didn’t have the friendliest smile Root had seen in months.

“I’m not hungry,” Root told her, and watched the blond bite her lip. It was meant to be flirty and casual, but it read as overly rehearsed.

Sure, she was pretty, but everything about her was practiced. Like she had come pre-packaged. Barbie: queer edition. Joanna put a hand on the back of the chair opposite Root, an unspoken request for an invitation to join her, then opened her mouth to speak. Root knew what the next line of the script was before she heard it.

“Then… maybe I could buy you a drink?” Joanna shrugged like she’d just thought of this.

Even if Root’s mind _hadn’t_ been pre-occupied by Sameen and the impending battle with Samaritan, Joanna would have been boring. Root had always liked a challenge, and this woman was far from it: a manufactured singing greeting card. Predictable. Safe. Unlike Sameen, who was a wild animal forcing herself to cooperate with expectations only when they were in her best interest.

Like an apology, Root gestured to her room temperature, half-full glass.

“I’m all set,” she told Joanna, and watched the woman try to figure out what to say next. Root could tell that she hadn’t expected to be rebuffed.

“Did I… I mean- You’re gay, right?” Joanna asked with a hopeful smile. Root was surprised by the blunt question and that the blond had managed to pinpoint her sexuality so quickly. This was the concierge off-script.

“I should head back,” she told the woman, pulling money from her wallet.

“Let me,” Joanna said with that same overly-friendly smile, reaching for her own wallet. Root put out a hand to stop her, shaking her head.

“My girlfriend is waiting for me,” Root said quickly, heat creeping up her neck that she tried to hide with a smirk. It was a lie and an overstatement all at once.

“Oh- I- Sorry,” the woman said. “Let me pay for your drink. As an apology.”

Root left the bar feeling flush. Shaw was not waiting for her, of course. For all Root knew, Shaw was still gone. And the dark-complected woman definitely would have cringed to hear herself referred to as anyone’s girlfriend. They were singularly attached to one another, that much was inarguable (or had been until a few days earlier), but the word itself was sure to garner nothing but disdain from Sameen.

Joanna probably would have loved the label, and the thought made Root want to roll her eyes. Off script, the concierge was still saccharine sweet, but far from smooth. And it likely worked for the woman, Root realized. Her awkwardness was sure to charm most people. Her kind attempt at an apology was genuine, and that level of niceness should have been appealing. But for Root, all of it only stood in stark contrast to Sameen.

Sameen, who was gentle only when she chose to be. Whose anger spilled into her affection. Who Root was pulled to on a base level.

It had never been a choice when it came to the dark-eyed woman. Their connection, whatever it was, had felt inevitable from the very start. From that first afternoon, when she’d met Shaw in the hotel, disguised as Veronica Sinclair, and found herself face to face with unparalleled determination. From the moment that Root had bent between her knees with an iron in hand and seen the spark of excitement undermining any worry.

Root felt the heat in her face fading, replaced by a slow burn in her stomach.

She thought of the first times they’d had sex in the subway station. The angry edge that roughened every touch between them. Shaw’s simultaneous fury and pleasure when Root had wrapped her belt around the darker woman’s wrists. Fingers bruising and nails scratching across skin. An invitation to a challenge to see who could take more. The answer: their desires were well-matched.

But things had changed after Root had been shot and passed out in Shaw’s over-turned apartment. Even at their most intense, they hadn’t revisited the push and shove of their first encounters. Root suspected that it was because something between them had shifted when Shaw was caring for Root in the subway station. The shorter woman had become more worried than she had been before.

Worried enough that she had tracked Root across the country. Enough that she had wanted to make sure that she knew as soon as something went wrong.

Because she cared.

Root realized that she had stopped walking.

She was still angry at Sameen for having such a dangerous way of showing her feelings, but she couldn’t deny that Shaw’s ill-advised plot was rooted in affection.

Back at the hotel, she climbed the stairs to the second floor, wishing that she wasn’t going back to an empty room. She missed Sameen, which was ridiculous, because they hadn’t really been apart. Root unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The shower was running. And on the other side of the glass enclosure, Root saw Shaw’s figure through the condensation. The clothes Shaw had been wearing when she left that afternoon were lying in a small pile by the foot of the bed, soaked through. Her running shoes had been discarded nearby, treads up to the ceiling and caked in dirt.

Root wondered if she should leave. Truth be told, she didn’t want to. She wanted to get into the shower with Sameen and tear her apart.

Before she’d made a decision as to whether or not she should leave Shaw in peace for a while, the shower shut off and Shaw stepped out of the glass enclosure to get a towel. But as soon as she’d moved a step into the open, she looked up and saw Root. She paused, then her lips pursed as she grabbed a white folded towel and began drying herself off unceremoniously and without any apparent worry about Root’s eyes on her.

Root looked at the ceiling, but couldn’t keep herself from finding Sameen again, the smattering of scars on her tan skin visible even from across the room.

“They brought that before I got back,” Shaw said, nodding her head towards the low table in the middle of the room. On it, there was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, a white ribbon tied cheerfully around the silver container. Root hadn’t noticed, too focused on Shaw being back. Some part of her mind, deep in the dark corners, had wondered again if Shaw would return at all. She realized now that it was a stupid thing to think. Shaw had gone to all of that effort to make sure she could get to Root, and her stubborn determination wouldn’t be deterred because of one argument.

“You were gone for a long time,” Root said.

“Yeah,” Shaw replied, an edge of irritation in her voice. She crossed the room and pulled open one of the bags, taking the first clothes she found.

“How far did you run?” Root asked.

Shaw tugged the grey wife beater over her head, then shrugged before pulling on underwear and long flannel pajama pants. Root went to the couch and sat down.

“You should eat something.”

“Not hungry,” Shaw said, words short.

“You should still eat something,” Root told her, trying to sound gently teasing.

Again, she was met by silence.

It wasn’t surprising, really, that Shaw was embracing anger. Root understood: anger had always been easiest in Shaw’s book. The default emotion if emotion was necessitated in a situation. Things had gotten harder recently, between them and with the fight against Samaritan, and it wasn’t surprising that Shaw had passed through to some sort of emotional clarity and then quickly withdrawn from it.

But Root knew that Sameen’s anger was largely defensive. And Root knew how to twist it to get what she wanted.

Shaw had come and sat down at the opposite end of the sofa, pushing the ice bucket out of the way to lay out a couple of guns she’d decided needed cleaning. And as she started to set herself to work, Root got up and went to the over-sized bathtub near the windows.

“Are you kidding me? You’re going to take a bath?”

“Might as well make use of the honeymoon suite one way or another,” Root replied.

She’d been right, of course. Despite the fact that Shaw seemed like she wasn’t paying any attention to Root, she would continue taking note of every action Root made. And Root in a bubble bath was something that would likely make Sameen’s blood boil. Sure, that meant anger, but it also meant arousal. Root knew the shorter woman wouldn’t be able to avoid embracing the feelings if she played her cards right.

While the hot water filled the tub, Root leaned against the window frame. Then finally she shut off the valve and undressed as subtly slowly as she could, feeling the laser-focus of Shaw’s eyes on her exposed body before she slipped into the water, bubbles gathering against her skin.

She tried to relax into the warmth, but could practically feel vibrations coming off of Sameen from a distance.

After a long period of silence in which Root listened to the methodical sounds of Sameen cleaning all of the pieces of her weapons, she decided it had been long enough for her to reengage.

“The Machine planned all of this,” Root said, and watched Shaw’s jaw set as she nodded.

“Yeah, I figured. I’m trying to stay out of your hair,” the reply came in a low growl.

“I don’t _want_ you out of my hair,” Root told her, running the tip of one thin finger along the side of the porcelain bathtub, collecting drops of water under the pad of her pointer finger.

Shaw continued cleaning her gun, but Root could feel those dark eyes on her. Could sense from a distance the anger and want in Shaw. Root knew what she was doing to the shorter woman. Knew that it wasn’t fair, to fill the tub with bubblebath and extend her long legs out to rest beside the faucet, ankles crossed luxuriously so that from where she sat on the couch, Sameen could see Root’s pale shins and feet, made darker than usual in contrast to the stark white of the bathtub. She knew that she was taking advantage of the slow burning somewhere deep in the dark of Shaw’s stomach. The embers that were always waiting, almost hauntingly, for something to feed the flame. Root knew full well that the mere suggestion of her own body being nude was enough to make that animal inside of Sameen raise its head. And while this wasn’t a solution to the problems they had, it at least meant she had Shaw’s attention. And in the moment, that was enough to bridge the gap.

“Can we talk?” Root asked, looking under her dark lashes at Sameen, whose eyes quickly averted from Root’s hand on the side of the tub.

“No, Root. I know I screwed up. I don’t want to talk about my fucking feelings,” Shaw said back, picking up another piece of her deconstructed weapon to clean it. Root let her hand drift back into the warm water and pulled her feet down as well, sitting up a little.

“You didn’t _screw up_. I-”

“Yeah. I did-” Shaw started to talk over her.

“I know why you did it,” Root said, refusing to stop, and their words kept overlapping, listening to one another but refusing to take turns to speak.

“I let you get in my head-”

“And it may not have been the most _brilliant_ plan you’ve ever had-”

“And now I can’t _not_ think about you-” Shaw tightly gripped a piece of the gun in front of herself as she spoke.

“But I understand why you did it. And I probably would have done the same thing-” Root laughed humorlessly.

“I mean, _fuck_ , Root, I spent a _month_ just _listening to you breath_ through a shitty microphone.”

Shaw slammed the gun onto the table, and Root’s voice trailed off.

“If we could just… talk…”

“I don’t want to talk,” Shaw said forcefully.

“Then what _do_ you want?” Root asked, frustrated by how childish the whole thing seemed. “You told me about Elaine- you volunteered that. And now you’re mad again, and I don’t understand _why_.”

“ _Fine_. You want to know what my problem is?” Shaw asked.

“I went for a run to stop thinking about _you_ and _all of this_. But it doesn’t matter how far or how fast I go,” Shaw paused, her lip curling in disgust. She’d never wanted to feel this way. She’d never asked for any of this. She had only ever started working with any of them because she wanted to keep shooting people. And now, she hated Root for making her care. Because it was hard and infuriating to think about anyone other than herself. “I am _always_ thinking about you.”

Root could hear blood rushing in her ears.

“And- Why the hell does the Machine have to be involved in _this_?” Shaw asked, making a wide motion with her arm between them. Root was taken aback.

“She’s _always_ involved, Sam. And right now, we’re the best chance She’s got to keep surviving, so She needs us to stop fighting with each other and start being a unified front.”

“So to do that, your Machine put us in the honeymoon suite?” Shaw asked, incredulous.

“It wasn’t the _first idea_ She thought of,” Root said back, defensive. “This was calculated, just like everything else.”

“Well maybe I don’t want a computer manipulating me,” Shaw retorted. “Isn’t that what makes Samaritan so dangerous? How it manipulates people? How is this any different?”

“This isn’t the same thing at _all_.”

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, the view sure looks the same.”

“No. All of this,” Root said, gesturing to the overly nice room, “Is because She wanted to separate us, and I said I couldn’t do that.”

Her voice had started shaking, and she wished she could stop it. How were they fighting again?

If _this_ was the best outcome the Machine could find, it didn’t bode well.

“What?” Shaw asked in disbelief, fed up and confused. Root rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and took a moment to gather herself, shaking her head.

“She thought we would be safest if She kept us away from each other. So we didn’t draw attention to ourselves,” Root explained, her voice wavering. “She was going to send us to do different things… separately…”

Root tried to finish but it was hard with Shaw’s eyes locked on her, those lips tightly shut.

“And- I told Her no.”

Shaw still wouldn’t speak.

“ _This_ was the two thousand one hundred and seventy eighth option that She considered. Because _I said no_ ,” Root told Sameen.

“Isn’t that breaking your cardinal rule? I thought what the Machine says goes,” Sameen replied. Root looked across the room at her, eyes steady, and wrapped her fingers over the edge of the bathtub again.

“Yes,” she said. It wasn’t the truth, exactly. If the Machine had pushed Root, or told her to walk away, she was fairly sure that she would have. But her knee-jerk reaction to the news that they, Root and Shaw, would be parting, was to ask that they be kept together. And the Machine had listened. All that Root could assume at this point was that the Machine had thought to separate them because She thought it was what Root wanted. If it had really been important for them to part ways, the Machine wouldn’t have bent to Root’s request. Or maybe the Machine had simply been making a point by suggesting that they part ways, forcing Root to admit that she didn’t want to be apart from Shaw.

Whatever the goal had been, Root and Shaw were talking now. Maybe that was progress.

Shaw was looking back at Root from across the room with eyes like two dark stones, her pupils widening in the dying light from the windows.

“We’re wasting a lot of time fighting,” Root said, allowing the suggestion of other activities to enter her voice.

“Are we?” Sameen asked with a derisive snort. But they were.

Shaw knew she was being manipulated. She’d known from the second that Root moved towards the bathtub that the taller woman was fully aware of how tight Shaw was wrapped around her little finger. Shaw had talked and listened, just like Root wanted. Because as soon as Root got naked, taking her time undressing and then putting those irritatingly long legs out from the bathtub so they were on display, Shaw’s mind was unable to shake the thought of sex.

She’d already had to go for a god knew how many mile run to get out of the hotel room because she was angry and being so close to Root with them by themselves for the first time in days was like an invitation to fight or fuck. They’d covered one base, so now, with the sun dipping below the trees on the rise of the hills around them, there was only one implied next step.

Root drained the bath, stood, and dried off, then picked up a white folded robe. Shaw’s eyes stayed on her the whole time, and Root knew that she was being watched as she tied the plush fabric around herself, even with her back turned to Sameen.

She’d gotten Shaw to talk, and she knew that there was still unchecked rage in the dark-haired woman, but that Sameen had gotten the point. Root may have been upset, but it wasn’t worth continuing to give one another the cold shoulder. More importantly, Root had stood up to the Machine so they could stay together. So angry or not, that inevitable pull was going to have its way.

“Do you remember when we met?” Root asked over her shoulder.

“You mean when you tied Veronica Sinclair up in the bathroom, hit me with a taser, and tried to torture me with an iron?” Shaw asked dryly. “A little hard to forget.”

Shaw had wanted to shoot Root at first. But that initial hatred of Root had been a result of Root pulling one over on her. And that same action, tricking Shaw and threatening her, had been what made Shaw so interested in finding her again. She kept wondering who the hell this woman was who had undermined the ISA and played Shaw so easily. Sameen tried to blame it on the loss of blood from her gut wound, but it was really that Root was just that good. And realizing that she’d met her match was both infuriating and pretty hot.

As if reading her thoughts, Root turned and smiled at her, nose wrinkling.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Cute?” Shaw asked, eyebrows raising. “I could destroy you with one hand tied behind my back.”

It was a threat, but Shaw’s voice had mirth in it and her mouth curved into a smirk despite herself. How could it not? Root was so coy and self-satisfied: that perfected cross between annoying and seductive.

Root’s face turned into that stupidly appealing little undecided frown, eyebrows raising, and Shaw wanted to jump up and grab her.

“I was thinking _my_ hands should be tied this time,” Root said, voice dripping with innuendo as she approached, swagger in her hips as her bare feet padded along the carpet.

Shaw's smirk grew wider.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: if you're disturbed by BDSM, you should probably skip this chapter. I'll give a brief summary with the next chapter so you can breeze past the smutty smutty bondage. ;)

When Root got closer, she could see that Sameen’s eyes had lit up where she was fidgeting on the sofa. If the Persian woman had looked like a kid in a candy store when she was looking at the display case full of guns near Birmingham, now Sameen looked like she’d been told that she was getting a kitten: thrilled, but unsure that she should believe her luck.

Root stood over her and smirked, head tilting forward.

Sitting on the sofa, Shaw was at eye level with the belt of Root’s robe. Her dark eyes strayed from Root’s increasingly smug expression long enough to take a look at the knot at Root’s waist, then flicked back up, shadowed by angry desire.

Sameen didn’t want to give in. She wanted to make it clear that Root didn’t always get to have her way. Especially not when the taller woman was making a god damn power play, standing so close that to look down at Shaw she had to practically put her chin to her chest.

Slowly, when Sameen didn’t make a move, Root’s long fingers went to the belt and untied it with a single, drawn out pull. Shaw could feel the throb of her heartbeat in her neck and was glad that with Root so close, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell.

The terry cloth rope fell loose from Root’s waist and the front of the robe fell open, a long strip of pale skin unavoidably visible between the two sides.

There was no movement from Shaw that suggested she was going to take Root up on her offer.

But instead of being discouraged by this, Root let the belt dangle from one hand and with her other reached out, her fingers brushing against Shaw’s damp hair. As soon as she made contact, Shaw’s hands shot out, one ripping the robe’s belt away from Root, the other wrapping firmly around the wrist of the hand near her face. With a single wrench, Shaw pulled Root forward so that she lost her balance and one knee landed firmly between Shaw’s legs. Root’s mouth opened in a contentedly surprised smile, and Sameen could see Root’s tongue move to lick the back of her teeth in anticipation.

“Trust me,” Root told her lightheartedly.

“I do, Root,” Shaw replied, not bothering to keep the frustration from her voice. “But you have to trust _me_ too. _Especially_ if you’re serious about this.”

She gestured with the belt, and Root watched it move, then looked directly into Shaw’s eyes.

She lowered herself and gently brushed her lips against Sameen’s. Chaste. A suggestion of a kiss. But Shaw’s eyelids still fluttered momentarily, and her hand tightened on the bones of Root’s wrist.

“I trust you,” Root whispered against Shaw’s lips.

Shaw looked at her for a long moment, eyes narrowing, then glanced past her like she was looking for something.

“Is there another one of these?” she asked, holding the belt up.

Root smiled.

——————————

“Red means stop,” Shaw said, pulling the first rope taut. She walked around the foot of the bed, Root’s eyes following her every move. “Yellow is slow down,” she continued, and wrapped the second belt around Root’s free wrist. “And green is go.”

She finished the knot around the bed post and leaned over Root.

“You got that?” Shaw asked. Root smiled up at her, playing coy, and Sameen raised her eyebrows. “Root, if I hurt you, or you want me to stop, you _say so_. Got it?”

“I never knew you were so careful, Sam,” Root teased, and was rewarded with a sneer.

“Is that a yes, you understand? Because if it’s not,” Shaw shook her head, “I’m untying you, and we’re not doing this.”

Root rolled her eyes, but had to admit she liked that Sameen was so insistent. Especially given that Shaw tended to be… intense, to say the least.

“ _Yes_ , Sameen. I understand,” Root said, testing her range of motion. She could move her arms some, but not enough to use them for anything, and she wondered what Shaw would have done if she’d had more rope.

Shaw seemed satisfied by the answer and got up from the bed, going over to the duffle bag on the floor. Root lifted her head but couldn’t quite see what Shaw doing. Just as Root was about to ask what Shaw was up to, the woman pulled her flip-knife from her pocket and started to cut a long, wide strip from the bottom of a black, long-sleeved shirt, and folded it over on itself as she looked back to Root and pocketed the knife once more.

When she approached, Root realized what Shaw intended to use the strip of cloth for and lifted her head to allow Sameen to tie the blindfold on.

“Careful what you wish for,” Shaw said darkly once Root had settled back down with the black cotton blocking all sight. Root’s insides were set alight by the ominous words.

And then there was silence.

Root stayed very still, listening with tense apprehension for any hint as to what Shaw was doing. But the room stayed quiet.

She’d done this before, a dozen times with a handful of women she’d thoroughly vetted.

It was always methodical. First, she would hack porn sites and trace viewers’ IP addresses. Then she would trace the owners of those computers. Look at all of their personal information, researching every recorded moment of their lives. Then she would track them down and arrange a ‘chance encounter’. Usually, this was at a coffee shop, where she would accidentally spill her macchiato right beside their table. She’d apologize, then perform the false double take, offering an ‘oh, wow’ gaze of admiration and demure smile that had the woman buying her a new cup of coffee in no time. The ‘that’s alright, you don’t need to do that’ from Root and the ‘no, I insist’. A few days later, Root would show up at a bar right beside her latest mark just as the woman ordered a drink, and feigned surprise when she recognized that voice. She’d buy a drink to repay for the coffee.

Hook line and sinker. It took a month or so of vanilla sex and tedious, scripted dinners, but finally Root would find herself in someone’s apartment, the selected woman’s or whatever place Root had broken into and called her own, tied or tying up.

She’d started the whole thing because her attempts at similar games with people she actually _liked_ had been unsatisfying and were quickly followed by a break up. Girlfriends didn’t want to hurt her, and were always surprised when she brought it up. Root guessed she could have been more honest with her previous partners, but she knew that any woman she happened upon on the street would run if they knew what sort of person Root was. They might play along, but most didn’t get off on it and were constantly asking for reassurance.

Then there was the trouble with what people really wanted from the act itself. For Root, it was mostly about giving and taking control. Pain was welcome but not really the point, and the purchased props her marks unveiled were unimaginative and killed the mood for her more often than not. It didn’t help that her extensive research made the whole thing predictable and boring.

It wasn’t really worth the effort, in the end, to try to find someone with exactly the right tastes. And once she’d realized that the latest woman wasn’t even really sexually compatible with her, much less emotionally so, Root lost interest, broke it off, and disappeared without any fanfare, leaving the woman to check the suddenly-empty apartment that she’d thought belonged to Root.

A soft rustling sound interrupted her thoughts. Root couldn’t quite place the noise. And then a moment later, the bed shifted and she lifted her head to turn her face in the direction of the motion. It was instinctual to do so even though she couldn’t see.

It occurred to Root then, suddenly, that she hadn’t done this since before she’d found the Machine. More to the point, she hadn’t done this since well before she’d lost the hearing in one ear. Her bad ear made her vulnerable in general, and paired with their tendency to be quiet during sex, she was at a distinct disadvantage now. She listened, frozen, for any noise, but there wasn’t anything to hear.

Shaw’s catlike nature meant that until she was ready for Root to know what she was doing, she would remain all but undetectable.

Root shifted one leg, searching towards the source of the weight on the mattress for Shaw. Before she could locate her, the bed shifted again and Root knew that Sameen was gone.

It had been Shaw’s feet that Root was nearing with her own leg. Once Root was quietly laying with her hands bound and eyes covered, Sameen silently moved one of the chairs to the bedside, put ice in one of the champagne flutes, and quietly sat down, resting one foot on the mattress and swirling the glass to watch the ice spin. When Root’s foot got close to her own, she pulled away and quietly removed an ice cube with her fingers, popping it into her mouth and letting it sit on her tongue.

She watched Root’s bare chest rise and fall, a little faster than usual, and she wondered what Root was thinking about. Sameen was enjoying the simple act of watching Root wait, wondering where Shaw was or what she would do next.

She put another ice cube in her mouth and stood up, pulling her clothes off as quietly as she could.

——————————

Root tried to relax, her muscles screaming from exhaustion from being wound up for so long, her entire body flexing hard nonstop. In the past, this had always felt like an act. Like she was putting on a show. When she pushed back against her partners, she’d always known that if she wanted, she could turn the tables and kick their ass. But with Shaw, that wasn’t the case. In another situation, Root didn’t doubt that Shaw might have slit the throat of someone blindfolded and helpless. Maybe not anymore, but once upon a time it would have been foolish _not_ to think of Shaw as a callous killer.

The fact that Root really was pushing back was exciting. She liked Sameen’s teeth sinking into her chest, the fingers dancing across her ribcage and digging into her. She strained hard against the rope, and tried to lift herself up into Shaw, but she was helplessly blind and Shaw was strong enough to roughly stop her from seeking out contact.

And now Root was close. So close. And closer still, with every push of Shaw’s fingers inside of her and swirl of her tongue, Root’s thighs tightened and her heels dug into Shaw’s back, trying desperately to keep her there. But Shaw stopped, pushed Root’s legs off of her and into the bed with hard, powerful fingers, one hand wet from being inside of Root. Root couldn’t help the noise that escaped her- an exasperated, high pitched objection.

It was a thrill to watch Root shake with frustration, bottom lip clamped between her teeth.

Shaw sighed against Root’s stomach and the bound woman’s hips writhed and tried to raise hopefully, but Sameen met the action with the heel of her hand below Root’s belly button, putting weight into the act to keep Root still.

The resulting breathless chuckle from Root and the way she pushed her head back into the mattress brought a smirk to Shaw’s face.

They could only play this game so long. Root would only be able to take so many near-orgasms before she put her foot down and no longer found the game enjoyable. And this made four. Four times now, Shaw had listened to Root’s unsteady respiration, racing faster and faster each time towards a climax that Shaw refused to let her have, the dark promise of “not yet” whispered in her good ear leaving Root with hands balled into fists, the ropes pulled taut as her arms strained towards Sameen’s voice.

“Careful- wouldn’t want to break their bed,” Shaw teased, crawling up Root’s body until she was straddling the tied woman’s stomach, her knees in Root’s armpits. “Looks like an antique.”

When Root realized that Shaw was just there, barely out of reach, she lifted her head up from the bed, hands blindly hoping to find Shaw’s skin. They found nothing but empty air. Then there was warmth against Root’s stomach, and she realized how Shaw had positioned herself. The liquid heat was Shaw, rocking slowly against Root’s diaphragm. The taller woman could smell Sameen close by, and she licked at her lips, dry from panting open-mouthed for god knew how long. She craned her head forward until her lips brushed against skin. Root wasn’t sure what part of Shaw’s body she’d connected with and didn’t have time to find out, because fingers slipped around her throat and pushed her head back into the mattress, tightening their grip on her windpipe until Root’s air was completely cut off.

Shaw was unrelenting, and Root welcomed the lightheaded high, the woman on top of her still rocking gently against her. Sameen was enjoying herself. Enjoying the control she had. And that was unbearably hot even though Root couldn’t see her. Or breathe. Root’s heart pounded in her chest, so thunderous that she thought she could _hear_ it. It slowly dawned on her that she was hearing her blood rushing in her ears. Adrenaline coursed through her, telling her to get oxygen and to get out from under Shaw, and she wondered if she’d be able to tell Shaw to stop if she needed to.

But just as a moment of panic passed through her and she opened her mouth to try to get Shaw's attention, Sameen released her and she inhaled, hard and deep. Sucking air into her lungs that expanded despite Shaw’s weight on her ribs. Those vice-like fingers lingered on her throat, a gentle reminder that if she wanted to, Shaw really _could_ end Root. When they tightened briefly, Root squirmed.

“Y-” Root started to give the signal, needing Shaw to wait, and had to pause to keep breathing, coughing dryly. “Yel-”

“Okay.”

The affirmation was quick and quiet. So _un-Shaw_ that Root entertained the thought that it had been in her own head. She tried to lift her shoulder enough to push up the blindfold, curious to look at Shaw, but she couldn’t quite reach the cloth over her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Shaw’s voice sounded anxious, and Root realized that she had worried Sameen. Root tried to explain herself but was still regaining her breath, and hurried fingertips found her temple, pulling the blindfold off. Root shook her head to stop Shaw, but the cloth was already gone, and Sameen’s hands were moving on to the ropes on her wrists.

“Yeah, wait, I’m,” another deep breath, “I’m okay. I just wanted to see you.”

Shaw stopped trying unsuccessfully to pry the knot apart and looked down at the face of the woman beneath her.

Root’s eyes truly didn’t show any hint of there being something wrong. She just looked needy, her eyes raking over every inch of Sameen, who was still straddling her ribcage. The expression on Root’s face made Shaw self-conscious. She looked predatory, somehow. There was sweat beading on her forehead, her chest and cheeks were flush, and she’d pulled the belts so tight that Shaw knew she’d have to cut the taller woman loose. Root’s head lifted from the bed up towards Shaw’s pelvis. There was no way she’d be able to reach Shaw at this angle, but her fingers flexing uselessly and eyes trailing up Shaw’s stomach to her chest, then finally to her face, was like being under a microscope.

It wasn’t something that Shaw had experienced before. In an instant, the tables had been turned on her, despite the fact that Root was still very much under Sameen’s control. Shaw felt vulnerable with Root’s pupils greedily widening, like she could suck all of Shaw into the dark circles if she were just a little closer.

Root moved under her and one knee bumped into Shaw’s back. With a glance behind herself, Shaw could see that Root’s thighs were tightly crossed, trying hard to find friction or pressure or something, _anything_ to get relief.

It didn’t really surprise Root when Sameen slinked off of her fluidly and pried her thighs apart. She knew that her eyebrows pulled upwards with despair when she saw the hint of a smirk on Shaw’s face. Root was losing her patience. She thought she would blow a gasket soon, tumbling over the edge whether Sameen wanted her to or not if the woman looking down at her didn’t help her out.

It _was_ a surprise when Sameen’s hand went straight to the molten ache between her legs, leaning over Root to kiss her so hard that her lips were crushed against her teeth.

Root had already been so close for so long that within a few thrusts of Sameen’s fingers, her thumb pressed over the bundle of nerves, Root felt her face screwing up and her entire body lifting up into Shaw like she was being electrocuted from the inside. It was too powerful to keep from haltingly moaning, her eyes tearing up with the almost-unbearable intensity that seemed like it would never stop.

Shaw could feel her own body building up pressure just being against Root, who was practically crying with relief as wave after wave hit her with Sameen’s motions. Shaw didn’t know what to think of herself- she hadn’t wanted to keep playing the game. She’d wanted to kiss Root with bruising force and swallow up every gasp for air.

The thighs beneath Shaw quivered and Root’s chest heaved, slowly, finally finding some regular rhythm. Root’s head fell back and her arms went limp against her restraints as Sameen finally slipped her fingers away from Root, sitting up and turning them on herself. She knew there was no way in hell Root was going to be doing much of anything any time soon and she didn’t want to wait.

Shaw knew her own body well, and was already so ready that there was only a minute or so between the moment that Root realized that Sameen was rubbing tight, firm circles against herself and the moment when Shaw’s torso lurched forward, hunching over so her hair tumbled onto Root’s chest as she shivered and shook, breathless. Root wished she’d had more time to watch, and tucked the images away in her mind.

It seemed like Shaw was ready to collapse into Root, but after a short recovery, one of Sameen’s hands ran up the length of Root’s body to her hand and then blindly reached out to the bedside table, fumbling until she found the flip knife. She flicked it open, lips pursed and nostrils wide as she took deep breaths, and slid the blade between the terry cloth and Root’s skin, sawing briefly until the white fabric fell away from one hand, then after the process was repeated, from the other. Root immediately drew them towards herself, rubbing at the red skin gingerly.

Sameen gave Root’s wrists a quick look and once she was satisfied that they were only superficially sore, she let them go and lowered herself into Root’s chest heavily.

“I’ve never done that with a woman,” Shaw said. Then, dismissively, “Seems like with guys, whether they’re the top or bottom, in the end it’s always really about their dick.”

“That seems unfair,” Root said sympathetically, wrapping her arms around to lace her fingers together against Sameen’s spine, and the woman on top of her shrugged. Root continued, teasing, “You shouldn’t judge half the population based on your personal experiences.”

Shaw huffed a laugh at the unexpected turn Root’s words had taken. She was right, obviously. It was pointless to think that a one night stand would be interested in making sure she got as much out of it as they did. After all, she’d always had the same attitude in reverse- she didn’t care all that much if her random liaisons got off.

“Guess I have bad taste in partners,” she said with a smug grin and a raised eyebrow. When she saw the stern look that Root responded with, she smiled wider, then lifted herself up to kiss the taller woman.

“Thank you, for telling me about Elaine,” Root said into Shaw’s open mouth. The change of topic rubbed Shaw the wrong way, and Root wished she’d saved it for later. Sameen rolled off of Root again and onto her back so they were shoulder to shoulder, and Root let her head rest against the mattress.

“Why do you care about her?” Shaw asked, eyes on the ceiling.

“I have to know who I’m competing with,” Root joked, turning her head to the side in time to see Sameen’s smile that didn’t last long. Shaky, Root rolled onto her side, her body exhausted, and reached out to put one palm on Shaw’s chest.

“You know, the only thing that sets her apart from anyone else I’ve been with is that she was a woman. I didn’t… like her more or less than the others. We never even went to dinner or anything,” Shaw said.

“Then… why her?” Root asked. She hoped she hadn’t come off as curious as she felt. She was desperate to know everything she could about Sameen. Shaw shrugged, shaking her head, then the ghost of a smirk appeared on her face, more in her eyes than her mouth.

“People aren’t computers. They’re not zeroes and ones,” Shaw teased. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I just followed my gut.”

Shaw was mocking Root but it wasn’t unkind. Root nodded, lightly circling one of Shaw’s nipples with her fingernail. She watched Shaw’s pupils dilate, that perfect mouth opening in a shallow laugh.

“And… what’s your gut telling you now?” Root asked playfully, leaning into Shaw as the dark-haired woman lifted herself up onto one elbow.

“It’s telling me that _sometimes_ ,” she murmured, eyes narrowing, “my taste is pretty good.”

Root leaned in to meet that smirking mouth in a kiss. When they parted, Shaw looked sad.

“You know it’s like I told you,” Sameen said, her eyes fixing on Root’s mouth instead of her eyes. Root’s eyebrows pulled in confusion, and Shaw didn’t see the motion because she wouldn’t look up from the lips in front of hers, but she still knew that it was there. “When I tracked you? I did it because I needed to know you were okay.”

Root shut her eyes and shook her head minutely, forcing a little laugh of frustration. Shaw ducked her head to kiss the soft skin beneath Root’s ear, mostly to hide her face and look at some point on the wall beyond Root instead of at the brunette’s face. Root saw through the act and pushed her away so they were face to face again.

“I _was_ okay,” she said, smiling tensely as she looked Shaw over, watching those dark eyes find and search her face. Shaw swallowed hard and eventually nodded, unable to think of anything to say.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no valid excuses for how long this update took. Life just keeps getting in the way and wiping me out. I'm very sorry!
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient and continuing to read this mammoth of a story and leave me kind comments!

The next morning, Root and Shaw were awakened by the room phone ringing, and upon answering it Root realized it was time to move on.

When she went to check out, Shaw followed, carrying one of the duffles out to the car. Root could feel Shaw’s eyes appraising her as they approached the front desk where Joanna was working, of course. The blond watched curiously as Sameen passed, then offered Root an apologetic smile.

“This was delivered for you about a half hour ago,” Joanna said politely, holding out a manila envelope. Root reached out to take the small, soft package, her mind on what it might contain. The air stilled, Joanna’s embarrassment palpable, and Root looked up to see what had caused the shift in the atmosphere of the room. She followed the concierge’s gaze to the red, raw skin encircling her wrists.

It brought an undeniable pleasure to Root, knowing that she was subverting this woman’s expectations of her. And it was more than just that.

It was knowing that someone could see the visible marks that said that she was _Shaw’s_. Not a possession, but a partner. The previous evening, Root had been uncomfortable using the word ‘girlfriend’ to describe Sameen because the shorter woman would hate being labeled in a way that implied some weakness (and yes, Root was sure that Shaw saw being attached to another person as a weakness). But they _were_ connected. The marks on her wrists were a physical manifestation of that fact. They were together. And having that fact quietly recognized by a stranger somehow made it that much more real for Root.

She went outside and when Shaw looked her way with the hint of a smile on her face, Root felt a swell of affection for the surly Persian woman. Even Sameen’s demand that Divya get in the back seat and shut up couldn’t dampen Root’s spirits.

In the car, Root opened the padded manila envelope. Inside was a burner cellphone.

She checked it, looking through the settings and behind the battery, but it seemed there was nothing to find. The contact list was empty, it had no internet connection, nothing.

The Machine spoke briefly in her ear, telling her an address and to wait for further instructions regarding the phone.

——————————

At the warehouse they reached that evening, Shaw was impressed by Root’s efficiency. She was somehow able to make their partner-of-the-day, Jamal, feel at ease. Like he was being listened to. Heard and appreciated. Root guided him through the warehouse and the plan to set up explosives in a hurry without seeming unfriendly.

In another life, maybe Root could have been a doctor. Shaw thought that the taller woman would have been good at it. Root could make her smile so personable, getting whatever she wanted and needed from a person without making them feel forced. Even though Jamal was very obviously anxious about what the future held, Root knew how to keep him on task. Someone she’d never met and had no prior information about.

Shaw had never been good at that sort of thing. If she couldn’t use a low-cut top or a threatening weapon, she was usually shit out of luck when it came to getting her way. She’d always had trouble with using words, and she guessed it was the result of her general lack of feelings aside from irritation. She just didn’t _get_ people the way that Root did.

And while the ability to get along with other people had never been something Shaw cared about before, these days she felt differently.

It was pleasant to watch Root work. Reassuring, even.

It did make Sameen wonder, though. Would Root get tired of Shaw not being able to connect that way? Shaw liked to think she was getting better at reading people, or at least reading Root, but she’d never be able to do this sort of thing. She’d never be as good at it as Root was. And she’d probably always be guessing half-blindly at what she was supposed to do or say.

At least that was a change from how she’d once been. She’d never be good at communicating on an emotional level, but she _wanted_ to be. Hopefully that could be enough for Root, at least for a while.

Leaving the facility, the man at the front desk stopped them and asked for Root’s name. When she gave him the day’s falsified identity, he handed her an envelope.

“It came special delivery. I’m glad it got here before you left!” The man was cheerful, oblivious to Shaw’s wary eyes looking from him to the envelope and then to Root, who had quietly masked her surprise.

In the car, Shaw glanced over as Root tore the letter open, then had to look back at the road.

“What is it?” Shaw asked when Root didn’t offer an explanation.

“It’s a phone number,” Root replied.

“Whose?” Shaw asked. In her peripheral vision, Root shrugged, shaking her head.

“I don’t know,” she said, turning the piece of paper over in her hands, hoping for more. There was nothing. It was just a full letter-size piece of paper with one short line of text. Just a number. (240)555-3740.

“You think it’s them?” Shaw asked. She could feel Root’s eyes on her.

“The phone was from Her, but… I don’t know,” Root was apologetic, wishing she could give Sameen more information because she could tell that the woman driving the car wasn’t thrilled with the thought of calling a number that could very likely be a trap. Shaw had been quiet all day, watching Root so closely when they were in the latest Samaritan facility, and Root didn’t know what to make of that.

Shaw tensely gripped the steering wheel but held her tongue. Root could practically see her seething with annoyance that Root was contemplating calling the number.

“Charlie. Alfa. Sierra. Echo. Yankee.”

Before the Machine had finished, Root understood and dialed the number. It rang twice and then connected. No one spoke.

“Daniel?”

“Root,” Daniel Casey sounded relieved and pleased. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Root didn’t reply. She’d spent enough time with Daniel that they got along, and she knew him well enough to not give him an excuse to talk. He was always the first of her little nerd squad to talk about the inane. And although Root knew it was a defense mechanism, helping himself forget for a moment that they were on the edge of war, now was not the time to 'catch up'. In the background, Root thought she could hear Daizo’s voice.

“Daniel, why am I calling you?” Root asked him, doing her best to stay gentle but get him to move the conversation along. Beside her, Shaw snorted a short laugh.

“Right. No chit chat,” he said, reading her thoughts. “Are you ready?”

“That depends. Ready for what?” Root asked, trying to make a joke out of how in the dark she felt and realizing a moment too late that Daniel would take it as some euphemistic come on and get flustered. Shaw had raised her eyebrows, eyes on the tail lights of the cars ahead of them.

“Uh-” he sputtered predictably.

“What’s the plan?” Root asked firmly, shaking her head as she looked out the passenger side window. “I’m a little… out of the loop.”

“Oh- uh, yeah. We’re supposed to meet you. We were told that you’ve got Michael Evans and Divya Makkar? And whenever you’re done with your road trip, we’re going to uh, do a little magic trick? Your friend Tasha Washington came pretty close to getting nabbed, but we got to her first. I hope you kept her boyfriend in one piece, otherwise you might not wanna show. She’s been…” Daniel paused. “Well, it’s been hard on her.”

Root smiled to herself, eyes on the trees whipping past as she remembered the tearful goodbyes Tasha and Mike had exchanged all those weeks ago. In the side mirror she could see half of his face reflected- the dark circle under his eye, the sharp downwards turn of the corner of his mouth. He deserved to be back with Tasha. They deserved to be safe and sound, finally.

——————————

The sun hadn’t yet risen when they arrived in Washington DC. Root supposed that this was intentional on the Machine’s part. Getting there this early meant that traffic was virtually non-existent, the low light gave them the slight cover of darkness once they were out of the car, and it would be easier to spot any threats without crowds of people to scan through.

They had found the address that the Machine had texted to the cell phone, and made their way inside in silence, the four of them tired from the long drive. Root had told them all the plan and was amused by how much the whole group had perked up at the news, only to then realize that going to DC was significantly more dangerous than being in the no-mans-land of other parts of the country, barely brushing with even the minor cities in whatever state they passed through.

Now, they were entering an office building in the center of the country’s capital, largely blind. Everything seemed quite silent, and both Mike and Divya were in much better moods than usual knowing that soon they would be done. But both Root and Shaw were wary. They knew better than to let themselves be lulled into a false sense of security.

On the third floor of the building, Shaw had already menacingly told Mike to shut up twice, and Divya was getting up to her old habit of trying to provoke Shaw. The promise of freedom from their seemingly endless circuitous route around the country had emboldened her.

“Stop,” the Machine said suddenly. Root paused.

“What’s wrong?” Root asked, tensely silent as she waited for more information from the earpiece. Shaw glanced back at her and despite Root reaching out to stop her, continued to walk.

There were gunshots as they rounded the corner, and Shaw shoved Root so that she was behind a counter, Divya and Evans crouching beyond them.

When Shaw peered out to return fire, she saw Martine looking out from behind some shelves at her.

“It’s Martine,” Shaw grumbled back to Root, ducking back into their cover and turning to look at the brunette.

Root realized what Shaw was going to say before she’d spoken. 

“I’m not leaving you,” she told the shorter woman, shaking her head.

“Go back the other way,” Shaw demanded. “I’ll hold her off, then once you escape I’ll follow. Get them out of here.”

Sameen knew that Root was being spoken to by the Machine. And then Root nodded, swallowing hard. She looked scared, and Shaw wondered why _this_ worried her so much. It was just Martine. And Shaw could handle one person. The real problem would come with the blond’s backup that was probably getting closer every second.

“The Hay-Adams. Ask for Christy Spalding. You’re Nadia Hamsar,” Root told her, eyes wide. Shaw’s eyes narrowed at what seemed to be the Machine’s sense of humor even in a moment of panic. Hamsar _was_ a last name, but it was also a term of endearment. One that implied marriage. Equality in a partnership.

Shaw nodded, ready to start firing. But Root was hesitating, looking like she wanted to say something more, and Shaw wasn’t sure that she wanted to hear whatever it was.

“ _Go_ , Root,” Shaw insisted.

Shaw shot around the corner at Martine while Root and the others hurried back the way they came.

Then there was silence. Shaw took a few calming breaths and then moved, planning to find better cover. At the same moment, Martine lurched from behind her own hiding spot, and they froze, guns raised, facing one another.

“Finally, we get a chance to talk- it’s been a long time since we met at the makeup counter. And you ran away before we could get to know each other,” Martine said.

Of course this asshole would want to have some idiotic banter instead of fighting. If it was banter she wanted, Shaw could do banter. In fact, that was probably best. It would give Root more time to get away.

“How’s your partner? Last I heard, my friend put a bullet in him,” Shaw said, then smirked, “Nice of him to let her borrow his gun.”

Martine just kept on smiling that close-lipped smile. Both of their guns were extended as if they were mirror images of one another.

——————————

Root shepherded the others down and out of the building in time to see Daniel Casey and Tasha Washington hurrying into a waiting van. In the driver’s seat, Root recognized Jason Greenfield. He looked up and spotted her at the same moment, then yelled and gestured behind Daniel as he went to slide the door shut.

 Mike had spotted Tasha and was already running towards her.

After they had all piled into the van and were on their way, Root quickly checked to see that they hadn’t been followed before calling Shaw.

——————————

“What are you, Agent Shaw?” Martine asked. Shaw’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t sure what the blond meant. When Shaw didn’t answer, Martine continued. “Another blind member of the flock, following your God?”

Shaw snorted.

“The Machine is _not_ my god,” she said bitingly, and immediately regretted it when Martine grinned, one eyebrow raising.

“What does your girlfriend think of that?” she asked. Shaw wanted to shoot her right then and there just to end the conversation, but knew she needed to keep things at a stalemate for as long as she could. To keep Martine engaged with her.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sameen lied, feeling the muscles around her mouth twitch and trying to prevent the sneer from being visible. She didn’t want to give Martine the satisfaction of knowing she was getting under her skin.

“How did the two of you even end up in this little…” she paused, gesturing with her pistol as she rolled her head to the side teasingly, “…Liaison? You seem like an unlikely pair. What does she get out of it, I wonder? You’re emotionally stunted. Vindictive. And she’s _so_ much smarter than you. No offense.

“To call her your ‘better half’ doesn’t begin to do the situation justice. So what, then? What does she see in you?” Martine continued.

Shaw still refused to answer, glaring as the blonde smirked back at her.

“No? Don’t want to talk about your little love connection?” she teased.

“Why’re you so desperate to talk about her?” Shaw asked, the words harsh. Mostly she just wanted to cut off the stream of shit that this woman was spouting. She didn’t want to listen to it. Martine grinned broadly at that and shrugged casually, her head tilting to one side and her hands gesturing out so that the weapon was no longer pointing at Shaw.

“What can I say? She has a lot of qualities that I _admire_ ,” she said meaningfully. “Being put in charge of keeping an eye out for you and Groves is certainly more to my liking than most other jobs.”

“Her name is Root,” Shaw snarled and took a quick, threatening step forward. Martine pointed the gun at her again, her dimples deepening and eyebrows raising. Sameen shifted her grip on her own weapon.

_Fuck her and her mind games._ She didn’t know why she’d reacted. It hadn’t been intentional. It was a knee-jerk reaction to Martine calling Root by the wrong name. Shaw scowled through her embarrassment at having been caught caring.

“Turns out she’s not as smart as I thought she was. Her little boy toys brought the girlfriend with them,” Martine said, amused. “I already found her once, I thought they’d make it a little more of a challenge this time around.”

Shaw heard her earpiece connect.

“We’re clear,” Root’s voice came through.

“Good,” Shaw growled confirmation that she’d heard, then opened fire. The blond ducked out of the way and fired back.

Bullets rang out around them as Shaw retreated.

——————————

“We’re clear,” Root told Shaw. There was no time for fanfare and she only hoped that Shaw was still there, alive, on the other end of the connection.

“Good,” the low growl was followed by gunfire. Root’s heart was in her throat.

“Sam?” Root asked, her voice tight, but the line had already disconnected.

In the van, Root was silent, her mind only on Shaw. Mike had Tasha enveloped in his arms, laughing tearfully, oblivious to the tension of the rest of them. Divya had gone quiet again, because she realized that they were still in danger and because Root was so still, eyes wide and dark.

Every minute that passed without any word from Sameen made Root more tense.

When they made it to the hotel, Root checked in and tried not to let her worry and exhaustion show too much. The apologetic hotel clerk let them know that the only rooms available were suites overlooking St. John’s church.

Root was glad that she had the Machine on her side, finding money to foot the bill for whatever came up, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough that they made their way up to a suite with a bathroom the size of a normal bedroom. It wasn’t enough that there was a coffee table and ample seating for the seven of them. Not when Shaw was still out there, in danger.

“Makes you wonder,” Daniel said quietly. Root looked over at him, unsure what he meant. He nodded at the door that Mike and Tasha had gone through with Divya and Jason, who was giving them folders of information about the new identities he’d cooked up for them with the Machine’s help. “Think we could have that? I mean, not- not you and me, but… if things were different. If we weren’t always running or hiding or fighting…”

“I thought computers made more sense than people,” Root teased, and even when he looked away, she could see how serious he was. She understood. More than he realized, probably. Watching Tasha and Mike reunite after so many long weeks apart, constantly wondering if they would ever make it out of this, was strange. She and Shaw would never be like that, sobbing and hugging one another with relief, and she didn’t really want that. But she did wish that she could be sure of Shaw’s safety. That she could know that they were together, not in danger.

“Yeah,” Daniel said, almost to himself. Daizo looked almost as sad as Daniel did. It was good for the three of them, Jason, Daniel, and Daizo, to be together. A few years back, Root would have laughed derisively at anyone who suggested that having a permanent team was a good idea. Now that she had seen Harold’s little crew working together so well and seen how much these three guys perked up working together, she saw the merits. 

They sat in silence, listening as Jason finished telling the others the plan.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, FAF! :P
> 
> This one's a bit shorter than the last few chapters, but I guarantee that things are going to pick up in the next few posts.

Shaw walked down another block just beginning to be touched by the rising sun and populated by men and women dressed in suits. She’d managed to escape without a scratch and had nabbed a touristy baseball cap off of a vendor’s cart while the poor guy was unloading things from a truck.

Making her way to the hotel, she felt antsy. Shaw knew that she needed to keep watch for Samaritan’s goons, but she wasn’t really worried. It didn’t occur to her that she should perhaps be scared.

Somewhere deep down, in a place she had no conscious awareness of, there was a feeling. It had been there, silent and still, for a long time. It wasn’t a feeling of destiny, per se. More of inevitability. It was, in part, what kept her from feeling fear at times like this. It meant that if she was meant to die, she would die.

But it was more than a lack of fear in the face of death. It was a feeling that she couldn’t die until her story was done. And she wasn’t nearly done yet. They still had more work to do to stop Samaritan, and there were numbers to save. And there was Root. She hadn’t finished her story with Root yet, and as illogical as it was, there was a piece of Shaw hidden even from herself that thought she couldn’t be killed until she’d done all that she was destined to do.

Maybe it had stemmed from the car crash all those years ago. The crash that had killed her father and left her unscathed. It wasn’t that she was immortal. It was a sense of self-importance that had grown from that moment, helping her become the woman she was now. She’d already known she was different, but after the car crash, she’d had a sense that she was untouchable.

Now, she knew herself to be more capable than others when it came to surpassing obstacles and beating the odds. Statistics didn’t really apply to her. She was undefeatable, and would continue to be until it was finally ruled that her time was up.

So no. Shaw didn’t feel fear knowing that Samaritan was probably searching the streets for her.

But she did worry about Root, and the others. They were good, but not good enough.

And Sameen’s story with them wasn’t finished yet. She wasn’t finished with Root yet.

From that first day that they met in the hotel, when Root revealed that she was not, in fact, Veronica Sinclair, Shaw had felt the draw of the fair-skinned woman. Like spinning around the drain in the bathtub, floundering in Root’s orbit until someday she would be fully sucked in and down, never to resurface from the fall. But she hadn’t drowned in Root yet.

There was still so much to say and do.

The hotel loomed over Shaw. She’d made it. She gave the man at the reception desk her fake name and was handed a key. It seemed that Root had made it too. That was a relief.

Or Samaritan had already gotten here and was laying in wait for her.

“ _Shit_!”

It was Daniel that yelped when the hotel room door was flung open and Shaw burst in, gun raised. As soon as she had assessed the room and assured herself that they’d all made it to the hotel room in one piece, she tucked her gun away again.

Root perked up and everyone in the room relaxed some upon seeing the relief in the brunette’s face.

Shaw stood over them all while Root explained the plan— Mike and Tasha would take Divya with them and with Jason’s help, they’d all get out of the country for the time being. Shaw watched as Mike wrapped his arm around Tasha, hugging her close against his side. And although Tasha’s skin was so dark that it was less noticeable, Shaw recognized the bags under her eyes from sleepless nights. Their mutual concern was too much, but Shaw didn’t feel the disgust that she normally would have. She just averted her eyes, finding the Indian girl from Wisconsin instead.

Divya, on the other hand, was scowling at them. Now that she felt like they were beyond the source of her fear, she was back to being petulant. And that pissed Shaw off. The kid needed to be put back in her place.

“If I get wind that you ditched Evans to go run off on your own, you’re not just gonna have our blond friend to worry about,” Sameen said, leaning threateningly into Divya’s space. She looked down at Divya’s knees, an even height with the coffee table in front of her, and mimed shooting them with pursed lips and an extended pointer finger. “You know some people end up having their leg amputated after getting shot in the knee?”

“You’re just a whole bundle of fun, aren’t you?” Greenfield intervened. Shaw looked up at him with a smirk, amused that he wasn’t sure if he should be more sarcastic or alarmed. Divya went back into the bedroom by herself, leaving the rest of them in a haphazard circle.

“Just do it. You drew the short straw,” Daizo said in Japanese, and Daniel grimaced like he wished he was anywhere but there. When Daizo urged him on with an anxious nod, Root felt her stomach drop with fear. What had they waited to tell her? And if Shaw hadn’t returned, when would they have done it? The way that Daniel was fidgeting meant nothing good was coming.

“There’s something- uh, something else,” Daniel said, forcing himself to look at Root, then quickly looking back to Daizo for help. The Japanese man wouldn’t give him any. Just a tight, apologetic smile.

“What is it?” Root asked, bile rising in her throat as she looked back and forth between them. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, we think they know we have a plan,” Daniel said.

“No shit, Hardy Boys,” Shaw interjected with a grumble, sliding her reloaded clip back into her gun.

“I mean, we think— the _Machine_ thinks—”

“マシンはこれを考えていません。マシンが知っています。” Daizo interrupted Root and Daniel. Shaw looked his direction irritably. She didn’t speak Japanese. She turned back to Root expectantly, hoping for a translation that didn’t come.

“Do _you_ wanna tell her?” Daniel asked Daizo, frustrated.

“Come on, man,” Jason said tiredly. Daniel hesitated for another moment, shaking his head, then finally spoke.

“They’re building a worm. Trying to get inside of it,” Daniel said apologetically. He clarified with another shake of his head. “The Machine, I mean. They want to get inside the Machine.”

——————————

Sameen and Root drove the last leg of their journey alone. Finally, blissfully alone.

Root could tell that Shaw didn’t want to talk, her eyes focused on the cars ahead of them on the highway, both hands firmly planted on the steering wheel. Root would have liked to talk to pass the time, but she respected Shaw’s closed mouth. The steady way that she directed them towards the city. It didn’t bother Root because the silence wasn’t out of anger or anxiety. Shaw just wasn’t one for smalltalk and idle chit chat, and Root knew that it was a relief to the shorter woman to not have any expectations put on her.

After the weeks with Divya and Mike, Root decided to hold off telling Shaw that when they got to the city, she should go back into hiding. Especially now that Martine knew that they were in the northeast.

Besides, the silence and Sameen’s focus on the drive meant that Root was able to look at her. To watch her eyes flit from vehicle to vehicle. She spent a long time wondering what Shaw was thinking about, until finally Sameen glanced her way and, in a scolding tone, told Root to stop watching her. The taller woman only smiled at her and settled in against the window, her eyes still unmoving from Shaw’s profile.

——————————

The subway station was warmer than Root remembered it being. All of Finch’s computers were running at top capacity, heating up the old metro car and the damp air that stretched out into the uninhabited tunnels.

Root followed Shaw into the repurposed space.

At the desk, Finch sat looking up into the screens. His unruly hair was haloed by the white-blue displays, and as they approached from behind Root was struck by how small he looked.

“Did you miss us?” Shaw asked, sarcastic. Harold jumped in his desk chair and turned, his face brightening to rival his computers when he realized it was Shaw that had startled him.

Stress left him visibly exhausted.

When John and Fusco turned up with the dog in tow, it was clear that it wasn’t just Finch that was worn out.

“Maybe now that you two are back I can focus on the job that actually pays me,” Fusco complained. “How’m I supposed to pay for my kid to go to college when the time comes if I can barely keep him in pants that don’t look like capris?”

Lionel continued to worry aloud about money, but the rest of them were barely listening. Finch was doing research on a number, glancing over at Shaw and Reese with a thinly veiled pleased expression, and the two ex-military agents shared a bemused look.

“You look like crap,” Sameen told John with a smirk, sinking into the plastic chair and watching him go to one end of the car. They’d installed some lockers since Root had last been there, and inside she could see that it was a new place to store Reese’s arsenal.

“I’d make a retort,” John said, then quirked an eyebrow over his shoulder at Shaw. “But it’s not polite to insult a lady.”

Shaw snorted and shook her head at him.

Watching them all, Root felt removed. Like she was an eavesdropper in their world where Finch was interrupting the banter to show them new information. It pained Root to realize that she was _jealous_ of how warmly John was looking down at Sameen. How Finch, in his stiff, stilted way, was happy to have Shaw back. And Shaw, even if she didn’t realize it, seemed perfectly at ease, scratching Bear behind his ears while waiting her turn to speak.

Root was an interloper. She had entered their world antagonistically, and with the Machine’s help she was propelling them into conflict that put them all in danger.

Reese and Finch weren’t _un_ happy to see her, but it wasn’t the same as the way that they welcomed Shaw back.

It was a relief when the Machine told Root that there were errands to be taken care of. She ducked out into New York cautiously.

But she was returned to the station too soon.

And to make matters worse, when she entered the subway she found herself looking at Harold’s back again. He was alone once more, with only the dog as company.

Bear got up and circled Root’s legs, alerting Finch to her presence, and she didn’t have much time to swallow her anger that Harold had let Sameen leave.

“The kids had better make it back by curfew,” she said, her teasing pout not really masking the irritation she felt. The look on Harold’s face told her that he had known she would be upset.

“We need all the help we can get. It’s been… busy, lately,” he said, pausing for significance.

It occurred to Root that the insignificant errands she had been sent to take care of had been a ploy to get her out of the way. The Machine had known she wouldn’t want Shaw going out on the streets if Samaritan was closing in on them, and had also known that Finch and Reese needed the dark-haired woman back to helping them.

“She knew,” Root whispered to herself, shutting her eyes tightly to stave off the feeling of betrayal. She missed the days when the Machine had been reassuringly with her at all times instead of this. This felt like an elaborate game of chess, in which Root was only a piece being pushed out of the way to let another through. “Where are they?”

“They’re undercover,” Harold told her with a shake of his head. “And they’re fine.”

Root knew she should trust him, but she still felt the ache of not really belonging. Shaw was all that she had. And she couldn’t lose her.

“Finch, something’s wrong,” John’s voice crackled and interrupted them. Finch sat up straighter and Root’s eyes burned into him. Before Finch could reply, Reese continued. “Our number’s not the victim.”

A gunshot on the other end of the line stiffened Finch further.

“Mr. Reese?” He asked.

“Shaw went dark. She was following our guy,” Reese said.

Root stopped listening, going to the locker that she had seen Reese open earlier and starting to grab all the weapons she could carry. Tunnel vision descended on her, and she was consumed by the fear of what could have happened to Shaw. The thought of Martine lying in wait somewhere made Root’s heart hammer away faster.

“Ms Groves,” Finch’s gentle voice broke through to her, and she turned to look at him.

There were more gunshots through the call with John, and then silence.

“Got him.” Shaw’s simple words came through, unperturbed.

Finch’s pursed lips and sympathetic gaze made Root feel silly for reacting so forcefully.

“You shouldn’t have let her go,” Root told him, trying to hold onto her anger to stop the self-pity threatening to consume her.

“Sameen is more than capable,” Finch said. He smiled weakly. “That’s why she’s here.”

Root swallowed hard and shoved Reese’s guns back into the locker. Without another word, she edged past Finch. She would come back when Sameen returned, when it wasn’t just her and Finch, with that apologetic look on his face.

“Regardless of what place you seem to think you have in our… team…” Finch said, and Root paused, looking back at him. Those unblinking eyes pierced her. “I’m glad that you’re here.”

He had her attention, and he knew it. She watched him turn back to his desk, gathering up some papers. Silently, she sat down in one of the chairs.

“We’ve all come quite a distance together, and each of us is important to our success,” he continued.

“Because the Machine talks to me,” Root said, almost bitter. That was her usefulness. He was a better programmer than she was, but she had the direct connection to his creation.

“Due to our individual skill sets, yes. But also because…” His eyes narrowed and he looked at her thoughtfully. “Well, because we’re not machines. We’re _people_. And people need other people.”

“The Machine needs us too,” Root interjected.

“Yes…” Finch said, impatiently diplomatic. “And no.”

Root disliked the long pauses he used and wished he would just spit out whatever it was he was thinking.

“If we _do_ stop Samaritan, the Machine will keep sending us numbers. Ideally. But until the next major threat to the system? You may find yourself forgotten.” A chill took hold of Root at his words. “The Machine is not a person.”

He was probably right. She knew that. But she hated that he felt the need to say it. What was the point? Just to make her feel bad?

Right as she was considering leaving once more, he stepped forward and put a light hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll still have us. So long as there are people to save, we’ll keep saving them. And… Root? You’ll always be welcome here. No matter what happens to the Machine.”

She looked up at him and saw how honest he was being. The hesitancy that stemmed from knowing that she didn’t want his thoughts on the Machine to be true. He was more attentive than she gave him credit for.

“They’re trying to break into Her,” Root said quietly.

“Our Japanese friend told me,” Finch said, removing his hand from her shoulder and returning to his bank of computers. He pulled something up. “When is the Machine’s plan being put into motion?”

“I… don’t know. Soon,” Root said. She wished that this didn’t drive his point home: the Machine was hardly in contact with her. He looked her way as if he were reading her thoughts.

“Then I guess we’d better finish _this_.” He gestured at the computer screen with his head and she looked up at it.

“You’re—”

“Infecting Samaritan back,” he said, nodding. “If their worm gets through, this will be the first thing that it finds. And if they _don’t_ successfully hack in, I’ll have this ready to send out from their servers in case any part of Samaritan survives.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, everybody!
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting and giving me kudos! You guys are great.
> 
> Prepare yourself. Only a handful of chapters remain, and shit's gonna get real. :)

That night, Root waited to see if Shaw would stop her from crawling into bed beside her. There wasn’t any particular reaction from Shaw when Root had pulled her toothbrush from her bag and gone into the bathroom, which Root took as a good sign. The simple act had been Root’s silent request that she be allowed to stay the night.

It was also reassuring that the cots were just as they’d been when Root left Shaw to hide from Samaritan. When Shaw had secretly tracked Root across the country, tricking her into keeping the Order of Lenin medal with her under the guise of a romantic gesture. Root still felt a swell of anger at Shaw for that manipulation if she let herself stew on it for long, although she had convinced herself that it was sort of romantic that Shaw had done it because she wanted to keep Root safe.

With Shaw, Root guessed that the ignoring of Root’s subtle hint with the toothbrush was as much of an invitation as she would get, so rather than asking aloud and risking being turned away, she lay down on the mattress and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, turning towards the dark-haired woman standing beside the beds, facing away.

Root waited tensely for the space under the covers to warm up from her body heat. It was getting reasonably warm outside, but in the subway station the temperature was still cool and damp.

Shaw was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual. And she didn’t seem to be more surly or sullen than usual. If anything, she seemed cheerful in her silence. Maybe not _cheerful_ , but as content as Shaw seemed to get. The Persian woman may not have enjoyed being stuck in the subway station, but she _did_ like working with Finch and Reese.

Root knew that Sameen was ready to fall back into the rhythm of saving the Machine’s numbers. The problem was that Root didn’t know how to tell her that the rhythm she was already falling back into wouldn’t continue uninterrupted for long.

The Machine hadn’t said so, exactly. But She didn’t need to warn Root in so many words. The errands that Root had been sent to run, while quick and simple, seemed indicative of something big coming their way fast. The odds and ends added up to a sizable bomb, and she had both sent and received information on the Machine’s behalf throughout the day. In an empty office building, Root had read the correspondence that she sent out across the country. She knew that the Machine was about to start an all-out brawl.

Root had told Harold that the program he was writing needed to be finished as soon as possible, and he was going to try to finish it up that night. So while Root watched through the darkened station as Shaw pulled her hair out of its pony tail and sat down tiredly on the other side of the bed, Finch was off somewhere writing code.

It was obvious that Sameen was exhausted, and it seemed to Root as though the Persian woman’s head had hardly hit the pillow before she was asleep.

The quiet darkness was welcome. Root hoped that she would continue to be able to come back to the station, but with Samaritan at their doorstep, she wasn’t sure what to expect. In case they were forced to evacuate, or if she simply didn’t make it out of whatever happened next alive, it was only right for her to soak in the comfort of that night. As always, there was a distinct possibility that this would be the last time she was able to enjoy being with Shaw.

Finch’s computers hummed from inside of the subway car: the constant, low buzz reassuring and familiar. And instead of the darkness being filled with the sounds of three other sleeping people, it was just Shaw’s gentle, steady purr of a snore beside her.

Root watched Shaw’s chest rise and fall and tried to find peace, even though she knew it was only temporary. Even though she knew that there was no guarantee it would last.

——————————

The next day, Shaw was sent out to help Reese again, leaving the subway station and Root, who looked like she was taking Shaw’s departure as a personal affront. It bothered Sameen that Root was taking it personally, because it had nothing to do with the taller woman. It wasn’t like Shaw was _trying_ to upset her, she just had things she needed to do and she couldn’t sit in the subway station waiting for the world to end.

Shaw had been incorporated into Finch and Reese’s life to help them stop bad things from happening. If she wasn’t doing that, she didn’t deserve to be a part of the team.

When Finch had told Root that they needed Shaw to do what she did best, it had stopped Root from complaining remarkably well. Hearing Finch’s half-compliment of her work had given Shaw an ego boost that she hadn’t needed but had still appreciated. And while Root may have preferred taking orders from the Machine, it was clear that she still respected Harold. Enough that she didn’t say anything while Shaw, Fusco, and Reese left with Bear in tow.

Besides, it was ridiculous for Root to expect Shaw to just sit around. They’d been cooped up in their various getaway vehicles for weeks, and Shaw was done running and hiding. She wanted some action.

While she hadn’t gotten any that morning, her luck seemed to finally be turning around.

She took aim at their perpetrator.

“You might wanna think twice before you pull that trigger, _ma’am_ ,” she said. The woman reminded her a bit of Control. Late forties with a power suit. Her stature and the perfected condescension were almost as intimidating as Control’s, but she wasn’t half as smart as Shaw’s ex-employer. It was more than these similarities that had Shaw raring to shoot: it had been a torturous couple of hours trapped behind a desk posing as the new secretary.

Fusco and Reese burst into the office, brushing past Shaw.

“Hey partner, you got your cuffs?” Fusco asked Reese breathlessly as he patted his pockets, holding onto the arms of the woman struggling in front of him.

“You _lost_ your handcuffs?” Shaw was dismayed. Sometimes the detective surprised her with his skill, but most of the time she wondered if he’d have made detective at all if he hadn’t been in the pocket of HR.

Reese handed his cuffs over to Fusco with a condescending smile.

“Better find ‘em. They’re sort of an essential for a cop,” Reese teased. Fusco’s embarrassment shone through his indignation, and Shaw smiled. It was good to be back.

——————————

When Shaw returned to the subway station, she found it dark but for the lights in the subway car. And inside the little space, Root sat in Harold’s chair as though she was simply waiting for Sameen to turn up.

“Where’s Finch?” Shaw asked, looking around like he might be hiding around a corner. But he wasn’t there.

Root smiled, a close-lipped smile of anticipation and something else.

“He’s out of the office for the afternoon. Can I take a message?” Shaw scowled at the imitation of the exact role she’d been playing all morning.

“You’re funny.” Her dark tone made it clear that Root was not, in fact, funny at all. And Root apparently knew it, because she didn’t continue.

She’d been awfully quiet.

While Shaw didn’t necessarily enjoy talking about things all the time, she’d come to expect it from Root. The taller woman was all for discussing and voicing her thoughts and feelings. And since they’d separated from Evans and the kid, Root hadn’t pushed Shaw to talk a single time. She hadn’t done much of anything, in fact.

The previous day, Shaw had made a point of waiting until Root was away and the boys were busy before moving the cots back together. She didn’t want anyone to see her do it. If she’d been asked why she was moving them at all, Shaw would’ve said that it was because the subway was cold and sharing warmth simple made the most sense. In reality, she had wanted Root to stay and hoped that the Machine wouldn’t whisk her off for an overnight errand.

Lo and behold, she had gotten her wish. The pair of them had slept on the cots just as they had done all of those weeks ago. Root had been oddly quiet then, but the lack of sleep on the previous night left Shaw exhausted. She had quickly drifted off, sinking into dreams that she couldn’t remember upon waking. If she hadn’t been so dog-tired, maybe it would have occurred to her to ask if something was wrong.

But probably not. Shaw would always be Shaw. Even that morning, when she had repeatedly caught Root staring quietly at her, Shaw didn’t think much of it. She certainly didn’t think to _say_ something. Not until Reese had asked what was going on between them, and Fusco had raised an eyebrow in the backseat.

Shaw had been annoyed that John was trying to get her to talk about things, and grew even more frustrated when she realized that thinking back on Root’s behavior over the previous day, he might have been right. She shrugged it off, hoping that Root would be more normal once their number was taken care of and she saw that Shaw really was more than capable of handling whatever was thrown at her.

Unfortunately, Shaw had been wrong in hoping that Root would relax. That afternoon, returning to the station to find Root by herself, the woman seemed very posed sitting in Harold’s chair. Like this was all thought out. And while Root’s silence and expression didn’t seem _sad_ exactly, there was _something_ that made Shaw uneasy looking at Root, and the Persian woman couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

“What?” Shaw asked. Root’s quiet, reserved moping (or whatever it was) didn’t seem like it was going to stop any time soon, and Shaw didn’t think she could take much more of it than she’d already experienced. Even so, she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask anything more elaborate. She just wanted things to go back to the way they had been before. Preferably with more freedom to bust kneecaps.

Root’s eyebrows raised a hair.

“Nothing,” she replied.

Shaw didn’t want to ask again. She wouldn’t. Root was an adult, and if she wanted to talk about whatever it was that was going on with her, she would have to bring it up on her own. Shaw didn’t play guessing games, and she didn’t have the patience to pry it out of Root.

Shaw opened the locker that Reese had installed in the metro car and started to dismantle her guns to clean them. It look like he had a new toy- a bomb that was big enough to blow up a sizable chunk of a building.

“There is something, actually,” Root said. Shaw didn’t turn around due to the playfulness that had returned to Root’s voice, or because under it there was that same oddness as before. She turned because there was a soft metallic clicking from behind her.

The taller woman was sitting casually, her legs crossed so one dark leather boot swung gently in the air. And dangling from one finger, Shaw saw the source of the noise: a set of handcuffs.

It came as a surprise, though not an unwelcome one, that Root was trying to be so completely seductive.

“Are those Fusco’s?” Shaw asked, forgetting about cleaning the guns and closing the door of the locker. She had intended to clean them more as something to do than because it was particularly pertinent, and Root was definitely worth her attention.

“Lifted them off of him this morning,” Root explained with a smirk.

“You know, he could’ve used those today,” Shaw said, scolding with her tone but smirking back with her mouth.

“I thought you were ‘more than capable’ of taking care of yourself,” Root said. Her eyes flashed and Shaw contemplated going back to cleaning her guns. She didn’t want to argue with Root. “Besides, I promise if you let _me_ use them, it’ll be a lot more fun than you had with him.”

Shaw shook her head, amused and annoyed by Root’s innuendo.

Root stood, walked over to the bank of seats attached to the inside of the car, and sat down with one foot on the plastic chair at the end. Shaw recognized the invitation and put her hands on her hips.

“Harold—”

“Is working hard. And your big brother and Lionel are off playing cops and robbers with the dog.” Root cut Shaw off. Her pouty smile widened, successfully appealing to that burn in Shaw. “It’s just us.”

Shaw licked at her lips and walked towards Root.

“Take off your shirt,” Root commanded, and Shaw’s eyes narrowed.

“Is this what’s got you so quiet?” Shaw asked with a nod at the handcuffs, standing over the taller woman. “You’ve been planning this?”

“Stop talking,” Root teased. Shaw didn’t need to be told twice. With a grin, she pulled her shirt off of her head and chucked it to the other side of the car. When she moved towards Root, the taller woman put out a hand to stop her. “Bra too.”

The dark blue material followed her shirt, softly tumbling to the ground.

Root stood up with a dark smile, and Shaw’s breathing shallowed. 

It seemed that Root wanted to waste no time— a desire that Shaw was happy to oblige. After a brief, rough kiss, Root pushed Shaw down onto the row of chairs. With a firm hand, she closed one handcuff on Shaw’s right wrist, then looped the chain links around the steel armrest at one end of the row and snapped the second cuff shut on Shaw’s left wrist.

Shaw was surprised that Root shut them as tightly as she did. The harsh mouth and fingers that bit and grabbed were more aggressive than usual. Shaw didn’t know if it was because Root was glad they were back in New York, or annoyed that Shaw wasn’t playing house, or just to see how much she could push before Shaw stopped her. Honestly, Shaw didn’t care _why_ Root was being so demanding. She just wanted Root to keep going.

One strong hand pulled her hair and wrenched her head back, exposing her throat like an animal about to be gutted, and a thrill of adrenaline tore up from Shaw’s stomach. She grinned with bared teeth when Root’s mouth closed on her ear lobe, biting down hard.

Root stood back, aggressively pulling off Shaw’s boots and unbuttoning Shaw’s pants, tugging them down her legs and chucking them across the car towards the rest of Shaw’s clothes. The handcuffs dug painfully into Shaw’s wrists when she tried to get closer to Root as the taller woman teasingly touched the dark boy shorts hugging Shaw’s hips.

When Root forcefully pushed her hand inside of the waistband and cupped her hand over the hair between Shaw’s legs, Shaw was already so wet that Root’s fingertips slid between the folds of skin almost accidentally. Shaw struggled to sit up towards Root but she couldn’t lift herself up much because with her hands chained above her head she couldn’t support her upper body at all.

The pain of the stiff metal didn’t stop Shaw from twisting and turning under Root. She tried desperately to push herself up into the taller, who repeatedly swirled the pads of her fingers and pressed into Shaw but never quite enough. Never quite how Shaw wanted. And no matter how far Shaw arched up towards Root, the brunette would always edge just a bit farther away from her, then shove her down against the bench again so that the rises dividing one seat from the next dug hard into Shaw’s spine. She knew that she would have lasting bruises on her back and that her wrists would be raw and sore.

Unlike when Shaw had bound Root with the belts from the hotel robes, there seemed to be very little concern this time for being careful. Root only watched as Shaw fought against her restraints, cutting into her own skin as Root undressed, painfully slow now that she had Shaw squirming helplessly.

Beyond her wrists already aching and the ridges digging into her vertebrae, Shaw was also growing uncomfortably cold, the only heat from Root’s own body when she lowered herself near Shaw’s chest, exhaling deliciously hot breath across Shaw’s breasts before biting down punishingly, her teeth clamping down on Shaw’s nipple. But in her position, all that Sameen could do was grind her teeth and try to wrap a leg around Root to pull her closer.

——————————

Root could feel Shaw shudder under her tongue. Felt the muscles that tightened on her fingers. The links of the handcuffs clicked and Root looked up Shaw’s body to see that she was looking back down at the Root, whose head had been between her legs. Shaw strained against the metal at her wrists, her arms all muscle, exquisitely flexing against the restraints. The steel armrest at the end of the bank of seats was unmoving despite the force Shaw exerted on it, desperately sliding her whole body down towards Root. Her right foot was trying to get traction on the ground to pull herself harder into Root’s hands and mouth, but Root was always just a little too far for Shaw to get what she wanted.

Root ran her free hand up the underside of Shaw’s muscular thigh, over her soft feminine curves, and along her back, raised from the seat and damp with sweat. Shaw was visibly unhinged, her irises consumed by those black pupils, hair sticking to her forehead. Her bottom lip was swollen from Root’s mouth- the same mouth that had left bruises that were steadily darkening across Shaw’s flushed chest.

The Machine spoke in her ear. Harold’s program was ready. And with that news, there was an update on time. A running countdown until she had to go.

Root pushed her fingers deeper into Shaw, finally giving her what she wanted, tongue adept.

“Root—” whatever it was that Shaw had almost said, her voice as rough and raw as the skin at her wrists, Root didn’t get to hear. Because Sameen stopped and ground her teeth together as she suddenly found the orgasm that Root had been teasing her with. Root wished she could’ve kept her teetering on the edge longer, if only to see what she would have said.

Shaw’s eyes were shut tight as she arched her back impossibly higher from the bench seats, and pushed her hips towards Root just a bit more, grunting quietly with the force of the pleasure overload.

While Shaw trembled, Root just watched.

Root barely let Shaw’s body calm, lifting herself up from between Shaw’s legs knowing that what she was about to do would probably bring the end of this thing that she and Shaw had.

“Shit,” Shaw murmured, resting her sweaty forehead against one bicep.

Root reached under the seat where Shaw was laying and found the syringe she’d hidden earlier, while Shaw had been out playing secretary. Root raised herself up and took a steadying breath. Shaw’s eyes were still closed, her body shivering.

Wordlessly, Root leaned forward, kissed Shaw, and sank the syringe into the bound woman’s thigh.

“Shit!” Shaw repeated, her eyes shooting open as she tore her leg away from Root’s hands. The needle fell away, hardly any of the dose of tranquilizer administered. Root backed away and knew that there was no way she could get close enough to give Shaw the rest. Shaw looked down and saw the offending object lying on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Shaw asked, out of breath as she struggled to sit up. Because of the handcuffs, she couldn’t really even do that. She fought against the metal, looking up at her hands and then glancing wildly around herself. Her hands were already sore, her muscles already tired. There was nothing that she could get to that would help her break free. Just as Root had planned.

Root, who was already almost fully dressed.

In her ear, the Machine urged Root to hurry.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Shaw roared, looking down her bare body at Root when she heard the locker at the other end of the subway car open, and Root removed two guns and the newly assembled explosives.

“Root, what are you doing?” Shaw repeated, her panic and fury getting the better of her as the flush on her chest flew from arousal to fury.

The taller woman didn’t need to answer. Shaw already knew what Root was doing. She was making sure that Shaw didn’t follow her.

“Don’t do this,” Shaw growled, turning and kicking with her bare feet against the pole as if she could break it. She wouldn’t be able to. “ _Root_. Wait.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Stop,” Root said apologetically, giving Shaw one last forlorn look before she slipped out the door of the subway car towards the stairs.

“ _Wait_ ,” Shaw said again, enraged.

The Machine was already giving Root directions, less urgent now. To call Reese and Finch and tell them to meet her at the address that She had given Root early that morning.

Root had a hard time paying attention to the instructions because she knew that below her, Shaw was struggling.

She wished she’d told Shaw that she was just following orders- that the Machine had told Root to take Fusco’s handcuffs and leave Shaw there, stranded. But Root hadn’t said those things. Because they would have been lies.

The Machine had told her _not_ to do what she had just done. Sometimes, Root thought, it was worth not following the Machine’s instructions. There was too high a risk that Shaw would be killed. Root had seen the Machine’s predicted statistics. And even though the Machine hadn’t told her how things would turn out if Sameen didn’t go with the rest of them to the large building just a few blocks from the most central point of Wall Street, Root thought it safest to keep the Persian ex-assassin out of it. She was too reckless. Her chance of survival was too low.

The idea had been to cuff Shaw, making sure there was nothing at all that she could use to unlock the metal restraints. The tranquilizer was just an extra measure- Root knew with absolute certainty that Shaw would try anything to escape, and would probably hurt herself in the process. If she was out cold, she would stop struggling. The sex had been equal parts distraction, buying time while she waited for the signal from the Machine, and a selfish desire to touch and smell and taste Sameen one last time. Just in case.

She knew that it was insane. Knew that she had betrayed Shaw’s trust. But if she was ever given the opportunity to explain herself, she thought she might be able to point out to Shaw that it wasn’t _that_ different from the tracking of the Order of Lenin. Root held onto that hope. Not just the hope that she could make things right, but the hope that she would live to _try_.

In fact, she hardly felt bad at all. Honestly, she was just relieved that whatever happened to the rest of them, Shaw would be safe.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this story, everybody! I love seeing that people are still just now discovering this fanfic and are leaving some sweet comments. You guys are great.
> 
> Keep your seat belt fastened, your seat back forward, and your tray table up. All carry-ons must be stowed in an overhead bin or fit completely under the seat in front of you. I've been on a lot of planes lately, can you tell? Hah. Yeah, none of them were even a fraction of how turbulent this story is going to continue to be. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

“Where’s Shaw?” John asked as Root rounded the corner and ducked into the alley behind the building. Reese, Fusco, and Finch were standing together by the metal door, varying levels of anxiety and readiness in their faces.

Root hoped she most resembled Reese with his determined little frown, but Harold’s raising eyebrows told her that she didn’t. She knew that she was flush. She could feel the heat in her face. Because she couldn’t help but imagine Shaw, naked and chained and angry but safe. The betrayal had been enormous. Root knew that. But even if Shaw never spoke to Root again, as long as the Persian woman was safe, that was enough. It had to be. Despite believing that she had done the right thing, Root was embarrassed and didn’t want Reese and the others to know what she’d done.

“She’s not coming,” Root said, her words clipped. Reese’s eyes narrowed and he glanced over at Finch, whose worry was evident. Root breezed past them and opened the door to the service entrance, motioning impatiently for the others to go inside. “We don’t have time to talk about it.”

The men, though still apprehensive, did as Root wanted. Reese gestured for Root to take the lead once they were inside, and she watched as he carefully flanked Harold with his gun raised, ready to grab him and rip him out of the way of whatever Samaritan might have hiding around the next corner.

John held a gun out for Harold to take.

"You know how I feel about guns," Finch said, tense.

"Yeah, and you know how I feel about you being unarmed." Reese's reply was little more than rumble emitting from his throat. Root glanced back to see that they were staring one another down. It wasn't the least bit surprising when Reese recognized that he was defeated.

"Remind me again why you're coming with us?" Reese asked Finch with a grimace as they continued down the hallway. Root could tell without looking back again that Finch's eyes widened and his brows raised.

"Because unless you suddenly learned how to _write code_ —” 

" _She_ knows how," John interrupted, gesturing to Root.

"Yeah but that won't do us much good if we can't get the bomb planted too," Fusco said.

"You don't think I know how to plant a bomb, Lionel?" John asked, bemused.

"We're all going because _that’s_ how I said it would be. For this to work, we _all_ have to go," Root cut off their argument. She didn't mention the Machine, because she didn’t need to. Reese and Finch both understood. And she didn’t add that she was fairly sure it was a means of making sure that even if one of them didn't succeed, there would be a backup.

“All of us but Shaw,” John corrected Root darkly. She knew that he could see through her.

Then the Machine began to give Root instructions. She told them to separate. Sending Root off on her own with the explosives while Reese and Finch continued straight and Fusco stayed halfway between them, watching a room full of security cameras. Root parroted the Machine’s directions, but halted at this last one. Harold and she met gazes and she knew that he had registered the same scary fact that she had.

The Machine was placing one of their team as a lookout. Watching feeds that She herself was built to keep track of. Something was wrong. Finch’s lips pursed and Root averted her eyes.

“Your job is to let us know if you see anyone coming,” she said to the detective.

“Since when do we have a lookout? Ya don’t think that makes us a little vulnerable, splittin’ up?” Fusco asked. Reese was looking at Root as well, the same questioning, accusatory look on his face that was on Lionel’s.

“I _think_ that we should follow the plan,” Root told them. Despite the misgivings that they had, Reese and Fusco relented and they separated.

Root didn’t like it. Whatever it was that had caused the Machine to place one of them behind a desk couldn’t be good. But She wouldn’t elaborate, or offer any explanation. And that made the whole thing scarier for Root as she hurried down a hallway with her gun drawn.

The rooms that she passed were mostly dark. That was good. The Machine had known that by the time that they got to the building, it would be after hours. The sun had gone down while Root was on her way to the address, and by the time that the explosives went off, every facility that Root and Mike had traveled to would be empty for the day or on its way. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any unnecessary casualties. Root didn’t want to think about how many innocent people _could_ get caught in the blasts if something didn’t go as planned.

After a long winding path, the Machine told her to stop. She saw that under the door that she was looking at, light was shining.

She waited for the go-ahead from the Machine but it didn’t come. After hesitating for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Root acted on her own. Without Her reassuring instructions.

She made a call.

“Lionel, what’s in this room,” she asked, looking around and up to find a camera, then gesturing at the door.

“Uh, there’s no camera in that room,” he replied after a moment. Root’s breathing hitched.

“No camera or no _active feed_?” She asked.

“I got no idea,” he said, frustrated. “I’m not the computer guy, how’m I supposed to know?”

“Nevermind,” Root said, then hung up on him and steeled herself.

Root charged into the room, not sure what was waiting for her on the other side of the door. She knew that she was possibly entering an extremely dangerous situation, and had her gun drawn and ready to shoot. She anticipated a slew of Samaritan’s goons. Expected a veritable firing squad waiting to receive her.

She _didn’t_ expect a long room of cubicles, all empty except one near the door she’d just burst through.

She didn’t expect Jeremy Lambert.

The dark-haired man sitting at the lone computer looked over his shoulder at her, the motion stiff and hurried and somehow it reminded Root of Finch. His expression darkened momentarily before he composed himself.

“Ms Groves. You’re back in the city,” he said carefully.

“And _you_ ,” Root said, smiling and giving her head a slow shake, “Are still kicking.”

She watched his eyes flash darkly as he pulled away from the desk and turned. He was in a wheelchair.

“Maybe _kicking_ isn’t the right word,” she teased in disbelief. She could tell he was trying to arrange his expression into the usual aloof smirk, and thought back to the moment when she’d shot him in the thigh in Neshkoro, Wisconsin. When Shaw had suddenly appeared in the parking lot on a motorcycle.

“The bullet shattered my femur. They tell me I could have died,” he said. Root hadn’t taken the time all those weeks ago to see if he was bleeding out. Hadn’t bothered to see if the bullet from his own gun had nicked his femoral artery.

“But it certainly helps to have the best surgeons available to you. Thank God for that,” he continued. Then, increasingly snide, “Or, better yet, thank _Samaritan_.”

She took a step towards him when she saw the grin spreading on his face, rage rising in her, lava itching to break out to the surface, and watched him put his hands up casually. It was infuriating to see that he was somehow able to turn a gesture of surrender into mocking sarcasm.

“If you don’t mind, I’ve got some work to finish up,” he said, gesturing to the computer behind him with a tilt of his head.

“I don’t think so.” Root did her best to sound threatening, but in reality she felt very small and scared. John and Harold were on the opposite side of the building installing Finch’s software, Fusco was covering the cameras, and unlike in Neshkoro, Shaw would not be coming to save the day. Root was very much alone for the moment, and if Lambert had lackeys nearby, she could be in trouble. Lambert sighed mockingly, then peered past her. She quickly spun back to the doorway, gun raised, expecting Samaritan goons on her tail. There was no one there.

“Just looking for your lesser half. Where _is_ Ms Shaw?” He asked. She turned back to him quickly, confused, and watched his dimples deepen in his cheeks. “I heard you two were inseparable.”

“Who told you that?” Root asked. She didn’t sound half as lighthearted as she had wanted to.

“Samaritan,” he replied as though it should have been obvious. Blood drained from Root’s face and he chuckled. “You seem surprised.”

“You don’t give Samaritan enough credit. We know you have some grand plan. We know that you’ve scrubbed clean _every_ security camera’s footage in our facilities. As soon as we get inside of your Machine, we’ll know everything,” Lambert told her. Root herself hadn't known that the footage was systematically erased. The Machine hadn’t ever said that She was doing it, or having it done. But it explained why they were able to continue their work without being caught and killed. It explained why Shaw’s face didn’t cause each warehouse to go on high alert.

“ _God_ is _dying_ ,” Root hurled the words at him, jabbing the air with the gun already pointed at his face. “And it’s _your_ fault. _You’re_ killing Her.”

Unlike the last time they’d been face to face, Root had bullets in her weapon and had the upper hand. But still, she felt scared. Lambert smirked, his hands still raised to either side of his head in a gesture of surrender, fingers moving lazily like he wasn’t actually threatened by the loaded gun.

“I hardly think that’s a fair assessment. Your Machine’s been sick for such a long time,” he said, smug as ever. “Samaritan is only putting her out of her misery.”

Root had to bite her tongue to keep from making a retort that would confirm that if all went according to plan, Samaritan wouldn’t be around much longer. If everything went according to plan, every single one of Samaritan’s servers would be wiped off the face of the planet. And it would happen so soon. Just as soon as Jeremy Lambert was out of the way.

“I envy my dear friend Martine. I’ve missed keeping an eye on you, Ms Groves.” The words were candied and poisonous, and the incorrect name was the last word that he got to say before Root closed the distance between them and pistol-whipped him across the face. The hit was so hard that his wheelchair tumbled backwards, only staying upright because it bumped the desk with a rattle and bounced forwards again. He slumped sideways, unconscious.

The Machine whined in her ear.

“Evacuate.” The Machine managed finally, the word short. Root could tell that She was straining. Sending out messages on all fronts must have been putting a toll on Her. After all, She was a computer. And She was currently being asked to run too many programs at once.

That was why Fusco was the one with his eye on the security cameras. So that the Machine didn’t have to watch them as closely. Because She wasn't able to do everything at once.

“I’m working on it,” Root mumbled, pulling the bomb from her bag and starting to set it to go off.

There wasn’t much time until it would explode. Forty minutes.

“Lima. A-a-alfa.” The Machine’s voice was _skipping_. _Stuttering_ like a scratched CD. Root paused, the weight of this fact sinking in. Had Samaritan already broken into Her? Was it all too late? Even if Samaritan did get blown to smithereens, would the Machine still be there in the aftermath? “Mike. Br-r-r-r-ra-v-v—.”

Silence.

Bone-chilling silence.

It was so quiet that Root could hear the hand of the clock on the wall as it snapped forward, one second at a time.

“Lima alfa mike bravo?” Root repeated to herself. Lamb. Lambert? The Machine hadn’t finished. Root spun to look at him, on edge. He was still out cold. She looked him over but didn’t understand why the Machine was drawing her attention to the man. With one eye on him, she continued her task.

“There’s a whole god damn _SWAT team_ comin’ in,” Lionel’s voice broke the quiet and made Root jump. She finished her task and set the timer, then hurried from the room, calling Reese.

“It’s ready. We’ve got thirty nine minutes.” She raced back the way that she’d come.

“They’re headin’ for Glasses and Wonder Boy,” Fusco said.

“Go and help them,” Root said, panic creeping across her skin. The Machine hadn’t told her to send him, but the Machine wasn’t giving her _any_ instructions now. It was up to them to know what to do.

The hallways were frighteningly maze-like without the Machine directing her, and Samaritan goons lurked around corners, unseen and unpredicted. It made Root feel very lonely, firing at men and women as they took aim at her and shot, causing her to run, wild and fearful. And without Her help, Root was extremely vulnerable.

Finally, as she turned another corner, she very nearly shot Fusco in the chest. He cursed at her loudly.

"Watch where you point that thing, nutso," Lionel said. From inside the next room, Reese ducked out, gun in hand, ready to attack whoever had startled Fusco. When he saw Root, he disappeared inside once more, Root and Fusco following.

They passed through the room and into another, where Finch was sitting in a desk chair, typing away while his eyes stayed glued to the computer screen in front of him.

“How’s it goin’?” Fusco asked. “Anything we can do?”

“As I told Mr. Reese, _quiet_ is the only thing that I need,” Finch said. His words were airy and distracted. Root moved back and stood at the door leading out to the hallway, listening through the reception area to the tapping of Harold’s fingers on the keyboard in the room beyond. Unlike Finch, Root wished that she had anything _but_ silence. It made her skin crawl.

A few long minutes passed and nothing else happened.

Then Finch’s typing stopped.

“It’s a waiting game now, I’m afraid,” he said. Just as he finished speaking, the Machine chirped in Root's ear, but it wasn't any sort of direction or guidance. It was only enough to cause her to turn and peer out into the hallway. To see through the glass window at the end of the long space, to a team of agents that was preparing to enter.

“Get inside,” Root ordered Lionel, shutting the door they had just passed through and shoving him through the next doorway to slam it behind them. Reese looked at her panicked expression. “They’re coming.”

Wordlessly, he pulled a chair towards the door, wedging it under the handle, and motioned for Finch to get down. Harold crouched stiffly, and Root went to his side to look at the computer he had been working at.

The program he had written was uploading to the server.

“How long?” Root asked him, watching the progress bar as it slowly inched forward.

“Not very. Forty five seconds?” Finch replied.

“Any way you can speed that up?” John asked bitterly, listening as yells resonated through the door from the hallway.

“If there was, I’d have done it already,” Harold said. Root could tell how terrified he was, and turned to find their escape route.

There were three doors in the room.

One was guarded by Reese, fidgeting and contemplating running out guns blazing to face their enemies.

The second and third led opposite directions down hallways with small offices on either side.

“Which way do we go?” Lionel asked her, standing in the center of the room following her eyes as Root assessed their options. Neither one was particularly promising.

“Clear.” The muffled yell was just outside the door.

“Finch, get going,” John said, gesturing for Harold to head down the hall.

“It’s not done uploading yet. Just a few more seconds.”

“ _Go_ ,” Reese demanded. The computer tinkled cheerfully to let Harold know that it was finished. As he pulled the thumb drive from the computer, the door burst open and the gunfire began. Reese, Root, and Fusco all took some cover as they returned fire and retreated towards the door that Harold had opened.

Finch raced ahead down the hallway, trying doors until he came to one that was unlocked. Root followed Fusco in, watching a female operative fall after being shot. Behind the fallen woman, many more men and women simply stepped over her body and continued to approach. Reese and Root got inside the room and shut the door.

It was a large, long space with shelving unit after shelving unit of supplies and, as they moved further along the room, boxes for storing papers.

“What do you think they’ve got in these?” John asked. Root just shrugged.

“There’s not another door,” Finch’s voice was high. Reese glanced over at Root as they simultaneously ducked behind opposite shelves and the door they had just closed burst open.

“There has to be another way out,” Root said, but she knew that there probably wasn’t. She looked back towards Finch and Fusco between shots taken at Samaritan’s defenses. There wasn’t another door. They were trapped.

The Machine must have heard Root’s urgency. And more than that, She must have known the desire to hear Sameen’s voice in what promised to be the last moments for their little team. With a fizz of static that seemed like the Machine’s attempt to speak, Root heard the line connect.

“Root?” It was Sam’s voice in her ear. Root’s heart thundered louder in her chest as she shot around the corner, toward the crew of Samaritan operatives. Under the cover of her fire, Reese backed deeper into the room, towards Finch and Fusco. “Root, are you ok?”

There was less blind fury in Shaw than Root had expected.

“Hey there, sweetie. Sorry I had to leave so… _abruptly_ ,” said Root, trying not to let her voice shake as she faked her usual playful tone. When one of the operatives shot at them, Root heard Fusco bark in alarm, barely ducking to avoid the bullet. Root returned fire, hitting at least one of their enemies.

“Apology not accepted,” Shaw said, terse and out of breath. Root imagined her back in the station, naked, with nothing to use to pick the lock, still fighting against the handcuffs. And now, it was growing less and less likely that Root would be coming to set her free.

“If it makes you feel any better, it looks like we’re both a little trapped now,” Root teased as she reloaded, her voice tight in her throat as she prepared to say her goodbyes. She followed Reese’s lead, retreating to the back of the room where Fusco and John were still trying to hold off the group that was closing in on them. They all fired more.

“Shut up, Root. Don’t even think about it,” Shaw said, her breathing fast and heavy, voice high and tight. Of course she knew what the call, punctuated by gunfire, was for. Root felt her eyes burn when Shaw continued. “This isn’t over yet.”

But it _was_ over. For Root and the boys, anyway. And they all knew it. John was looking grimly determined, and pushed Finch back against the wall when another shot fired. As if being the last one to be pummeled by bullets would somehow save Finch, when in reality it just made certain that he would have to watch the rest of them die.

Every time that they hit one of Samaritan’s people, it seemed like another appeared. An endless line of them coming to be shot in the knees by Reese, Root, and Fusco. And they couldn’t keep this up forever. Samaritan had more people under its thumb than the little crew hiding behind shelves had bullets for.

“Did you hear me? Are you still there?” Shaw asked, her voice still coming through loud and clear in Root’s ear. Root took a deep breath to try to steady herself, leaning out just enough to shoot towards their assailants. There were at least seven of them, and Root knew that she only had a few shots left.

“I heard you,” Root said, barely more than a whisper. She wanted to say something more. A goodbye. An apology. Anything. But she wasn’t sure how to go about it.

Root shot at the Decima agents again, but without the Machine’s guidance, she knew she had wasted her bullets. Not for the first time, she wished that the Machine could read her thoughts. She was pleading with the Machine to sort out the code that She was being inundated with so that She could help Root and the others fight back.

“I’m out of ammo.”

It was Reese’s voice that had cut across Root’s thoughts. She glanced over at him and watched him shut his eyes, trying to calm himself. Fusco was still looking fierce.

“I’m not doin’ much better,” Lionel said, giving Root a sidelong look of concern. Root felt her heart sinking into her stomach.

“One of the boys will come for you. Daizo or Jason or Daniel. The Machine will help them find you,” Root started spouting at Shaw, hoping desperately that she was right. If Shaw wouldn’t let her say goodbye, she was at least going to try to prepare the woman who was handcuffed in the subway station for what would come next. “I don’t know when exactly, or who, but someone will come for you—” 

“ _Shut_. _up_. You are _not_ going down yet,” Shaw interrupted. Root leaned out from her hiding spot, saw the operatives closing in on them. She pulled the trigger rapidly and after two misses, she was met with the resounding, horrifying click of an empty chamber.

Root wanted to beg Shaw to let her speak, but she couldn’t find the words with gunshots continuously firing her direction. Fusco was cursing, looking at his weapon, which was apparently empty now as well. Root and Finch made eye contact, and she could see through the horror in his eyes that he was resigned to what was coming.

“We put up a good fight,” he said, his lips trembling a little as he spoke, and the rest of them all looked at him. He was their commander, telling them that the battle was lost. John looked like his mind was racing for some other way out, and Fusco’s mouth was twisted into an angry frown as Finch continued to speak. “It has been an honor, and a privilege, to work with all of you. You are the best colleagues… the best _friends_ … that I could _ever_ have hoped for.”

Despite the rain of bullets around them and Samaritan’s guns about to round their meagre cover to kill all of them, Finch’s words were, as always, impeccable and precise. Chosen perfectly, and spoken clearly. It was like he’d always known he would have to make this speech. Like it had been waiting in the wings since they’d first met.

Root swallowed the lump in her throat. She tried to tell herself not to be afraid, but she was. She was afraid of what would happen to the Machine, and what would happen to Shaw.

“Sameen,” Root said, her voice quaking, pulling herself back out of the line of fire. She wanted so desperately to say something, but didn’t know what the words she was about to say would be. She just knew that she _had_ to say them. This was her last chance. “I—” 

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw’s voice cut her off again. One final, impatient rejection of Root’s sentimentality. “Keep fighting.”

But Root couldn’t. She closed her eyes tight and felt tears burning behind her eyelids.

From beyond their failing barricade, there was more gunfire.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving me comments, everybody. These recent chapters are what I meant a long time ago when I was expressing surprise that somehow my ideas for where the story would go were not that far off from the show itself. But I decided that I liked the idea of this story taking a long and winding path to this point.
> 
> On a more somber note, some of you might remember me being extremely surprised when, just as I was posting a chapter that referenced To Kill A Mockingbird, it was announced that Harper Lee’s work Go Set A Watchman was being published. This time, unfortunately, the surprise is not a happy one. In light of the recent heartbreaking events in Paris, I’d like to say that any resemblance to real occurrences is coincidental.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy. Have some tissues handy, perhaps?

Root heard the increase in bullets and flinched at the sound, waiting to be hit. But when she didn’t feel anything, she opened her eyes and looked around at John, Lionel, and Harold, all of whom were doing the same.

More gunfire came. The ear-splitting pops of firearms caused every one of them to cringe.

But something wasn’t quite right.

Reese and Root recognized simultaneously that the sound was punctuated by cries of pain and alarm. They exchanged a look of confusion,then Root peered out from her cover.

People were falling. And behind them…

It was _Shaw_.

She was _there_. Somehow, impossibly, she had made it to them. Root didn’t know if she was more relieved or stunned. Not for the first time, Shaw had appeared when Root had least expected her to.

She looked worse for wear. Her clothes were disheveled. Her hair was wild, sticking to her forehead, and her face was pale and drawn. But regardless of her state, her Heckler & Koch USP Compact was steady in her outstretched right arm, the handcuffs dangling from her bloody and bruised wrist beneath the weapon.

Reese had looked as well, and stood up upon seeing her. He stepped back to let Harold out from behind the shelves. Finch saw her face and was immediately pleased.

“Oh thank goodness,” he said with a genuine smile. He was unabashedly relieved to see Sameen.

“I could get used to this,” Shaw said with a grim smirk, looking up at them all as they came out from behind their cover. She took a step towards Harold and Reese, looking them over for any signs that they’d been hurt.

The Samaritan operatives rolled on the ground and clutched at their knees.

She glanced over at Fusco and then at Root’s body, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with the brunette, instead looking away from her once more when she’d made sure that they were all safe, looking back to Reese and Finch with a stern expression on her face. Like she was barely able to control herself. Shaw’s careful avoidance allowed Root to take in the fact that her left arm wasn’t through the sleeve of her jacket, instead tucked close against her abdomen.

“How are you here? How did you _find_ us?” Root asked, her voice cracking. Shaw’s gaze finally shifted to Root’s face. They made eye contact and the look from Sameen was scalding.

Shaw opened her mouth to say something biting, her lip curling menacingly.

But then, in a split second, her eyes unfocused at the exact same moment that the Machine sharply attempted to rattle off a piece of information in Root’s ear.

“ _No_!” It was Shaw that roared the word.

Two shots fired.

The second was from Shaw’s gun, straight through the eye socket of a Samaritan operative who had collapsed on the floor when Shaw entered the room, blood already pooled around his calves.

The first, the one that Shaw had seen coming before it happened, before _the Machine_ had finished telling Root to stop it, had exited the now-dead operative’s gun where he lay on the ground, and had travelled straight into Harold’s chest.

Root, John, and Fusco all spun and watched Harold sway. Were all too slow to prevent the gunshot.

Shaw had tried.

And she had failed.

Harold’s face looked surprised, his eyebrows raised, eyes wide and pale, his mouth open in a small, perfect ‘o’.

Then his head bent forward, looking down at the expanding bloom of red on his clothes.

He stumbled.

John lunged at him, followed by the rest of them, still too slow. They couldn’t keep him from dropping.

John broke Harold’s fall and tried to hold the wounded man sitting upright against his chest.

Harold’s hands reached shakily for John’s shoulders, his eyes fearful, and John lost his grip, barely keeping Finch’s head from knocking against the floor as his glasses tumbled away and he lay back on the wall-to-wall carpeting.

He coughed.

Coughed again.

Coughed up blood.

Then Shaw’s hands were on him, the handcuffs smacking into his side, and as she frantically pressed her palms into the wound in Finch’s chest hard, Root saw how she had managed to escape the handcuffs. Her left hand, the one that had been tucked inside of her jacket, was swelling, blue, and disfigured.

She had broken her hand.

Root felt sick thinking of what that must have taken, but at the moment Shaw didn’t seem to be thinking of herself at all, putting pressure on the bullet wound in Finch’s chest. John’s palms followed and enveloped hers, blindly hoping that the extra strength would help. Shaw’s small, ruined hand was completed concealed by his as they worked together to push against Finch’s ribcage.

But Harold was still weakly coughing, and there was blood on Shaw and John’s hands, and more coming from Harold’s mouth, as black as tar. Too much of it. Dripping down the side of Finch’s face to his ear.

Root stepped back, not sure what to do, then stepped forward again. Terror crept over her as the Machine started to try to give her odds for Harold’s survival and stuttered on the numbers. Small. Smaller. And smaller still. The numbers ticking down too fast for the Machine to keep up at the best of times, and with Her current glitches, She froze up and skipped some.

“Oh jeez. That doesn’t look good.”

It was Fusco that was talking, Root recognized through the hum of Her voice and the rush of fear for Harold. But none of them were listening to Lionel.

All of them only had eyes and ears for one person. For Harold Finch, who was prostrate on the floor between them, with more and more blood covering him. Dark, arterial blood, from deep within him.

“Harold, you’ve gotta stay with us,” Shaw had started to talk to him, words tumbling like the numbers from the Machine. Reese looked on, terrified, as Harold’s eyelids fluttered, shaking as he choked on blood. Root could tell that John was doing his best to look reassuring when Finch and he locked eyes, but he did not succeed.

“His lungs are filling up with blood— I need something sharp,” Shaw commanded, her speech redirected from Harold to the rest of them. Her voice was stronger than Root would have expected. But the rest of them were all slow and stunned and didn’t move to offer her anything.

When no one responded, Shaw pulled her unbroken hand out from under John’s and fished in her pants pocket, her flip knife tumbling out onto the floor as she fought the handcuffs still encircling her skinned wrist. She flicked the blade open and tore at Finch’s vest and shirt. The terrible sound of his labored breathing, the gurgling of blood in his throat, was punctuated by Shaw’s own little gasps of breath as she worked on his chest, her broken hand making her slow and clumsy. Root couldn’t see what exactly Shaw was doing, blocked by the dark haired woman’s torso, but whatever it was, it didn’t seem to make a difference.

And Harold kept struggling to breathe, even when the flip blade clattered to the floor again and Shaw pressed both hands against his chest once more.

“ _Breathe_ , dammit,” Shaw told Harold, angry. “Please.”

Shaw glanced up over her shoulder, searching for Root, and the shortest eye contact told Root everything that she needed to know.

This time, when their eyes met, there was no dark, frightening anger.

No.

Never before had Sameen looked so helpless. Begging for a miracle.

Finch was dying.

Shaw was already looking back at the man between her knees and Reese’s.

“Harold, you have to—” Shaw tried to speak again, tried to tell him to keep breathing, but she didn’t finish. Root thought for a second that Shaw was going to be sick. But she wasn’t sick.

It was enough to make Harold turn his head slightly to her and see just how dire his situation was. Sameen Shaw was fighting her body’s involuntary reactions. She was _scared_ , and her voice had caught in her throat.

Root felt the blood draining from her face, a pit opening in her stomach like everything was sinking inside of her except her heart, which she was fairly sure she was about to throw up.

But Harold’s red lips pursed into an uncomfortable little smile and he lifted one arm. His elbow bent so that his hand came to weakly rest on Shaw’s forearm. Looking into her face with what Root could only call reassuring determination, he looked like he was trying to say something. He struggled and managed, despite the blood, to say some words that Root didn’t catch. His eyes bored into Shaw, and Root could see his hand contracting on Shaw’s arm. Shaw’s breathing was shallow. Uneven. She managed a tiny motion and nodded down at him.

Fusco leaned over him and Harold’s lips quivered.

“You gotta hang in there, Glasses. We need you,” Fusco said, as blunt and brusque as ever.

Harold’s eyes hazily moved to focus on Root.

The Machine was giving her a message to pass on, interrupting the scroll of numbers tracking his chance of survival. Numbers that were coming more smoothly now, but growing ever smaller.

Root did her best to keep her eyes from shutting against the tears that were brimming there as Harold coughed particularly hard under Shaw’s hands, more blood bubbling from between his lips.

John’s hands were already giving up the pressure.

“She says…” Root started to tell him, but had to pause to keep herself from crying, “She says that your program worked. And… as long as there are people to be saved, we’ll keep saving them.”

The last bit hadn’t been from the Machine. Those words had been from Root. Parroting Finch’s own words of reassurance back to him. Harold’s eyes shut, his lips pursing, horrifyingly red, and he nodded.

She wanted to apologize. To beg him to forgive her because maybe if she had let Shaw come with them, things would have been different. Maybe if she had told Fusco to stay put at the security feeds he would have been able to help them escape. Maybe if she had stayed out of their lives altogether he wouldn’t be bleeding out on the floor in some off-Wall Street office building.

John put one hand on Harold’s shoulder, the other blindly reaching for his hand, before Root could find the words. Root could see Harold’s fingers shaking in Reese’s blood-covered ones as his eyes found John’s face.

His right hand man. His closest friend.

“I didn’t see him,” John said, shaking his head, his mouth twisting into a frown. His face was wet. “I’m so sorry, Harold.”

Root had to look away from John because he was crying openly, and she could feel the tears burning in her own eyes. John had nothing to apologize for. It was her own fault. It was her fault for letting Finch come. For not working with him through the night so that he wasn’t quite so tired. There were ten thousand things she could have done differently, and any one of them could have kept Harold Finch from being shot by some low-ranking Samaritan crony.

“Thank you,” John said, sniffing hard against tears, “For everything.”

Shaw was still scrambling to press against Harold’s chest, scowling, her broken hand twisted and grotesque. Harold had stopped coughing.

“Harold, keep breathing. Finch!” Shaw commanded him. Her hands were completely covered in blood, her black clothes soaking some of it up but unable to disguise all of the damage.

Harold was looking at John when the countdown from the Machine stopped. There was a long stretch of quiet, the only noise coming from Shaw as she inhaled and exhaled in little hisses through her teeth as her hands slipped against Harold’s bare, bloody chest. Even though Sameen’s hands were still pushing hard against Finch, John gently reached out and shut Harold’s eyes.

Shaw slowly stopped pushing against Finch, her hands resting limply on the lapels of his blood-soaked jacket. Coated in his blood, it was harder to tell that her left hand was broken.

They sat in silence.

Even the Machine was quiet. In shock.

Then finally, the Machine spoke in Root’s ear, and Root watched Shaw jump.

“Twelve. Minutes.” The words were halting, but Root understood them. The explosives were going to go off soon, and they needed to get as far away as possible.

“We need to go,” Root said, barely more than a whisper.

“I’m not leaving him here,” John said.

“No,” Shaw said, her voice raw, shaking her head. The action started slowly, then continued with increasing vehemence. Root bent and reached out to take Sameen’s hands from Harold’s chest, and Shaw ripped her hands out of Root’s grasp and shoved the woman standing over her away. Root let her go.

“Carry him. I will kill _everyone_ who gets in our way,” Shaw said to Reese, mouth snarling, rabid, avoiding looking at Root entirely. Root had never seen her so angry. Fusco was reloading his gun with ammo from one of the bodies, looking almost as furious as the Persian woman getting up from the floor. Shaw’s shoulders were squared and her chin tucked forward like she was fighting just to keep herself from blowing apart with rage. Root could tell that the two of them were completely ready to go on the war path. Bloodlust clear in their faces.

“Knee caps, Sam,” Root told her quietly. She didn’t need to say anything more. Shaw looked over at Root with eyes that were black, and Root absorbed the full impact of the harsh twist of her mouth being turned on her. Shaw’s eyebrows and mouth twitched like she was pleading with Root to let her be the animal that she wanted to become. And Root shook her head sympathetically. To start killing now would undo all of Finch’s hard work to make them (slightly) well-adjusted.

“She’s right,” John’s voice was tight, strangled. He was still kneeling on the ground beside Harold’s lifeless body. Shaw turned on him, readying to roar in his face, but Root interrupted.

“We should move him. There are more of them coming,” Root said quietly as the Machine started chattering in her ear again.

Shaw didn’t fight her. Just reloaded her gun and turned to head back in the direction from which she’d come.

——————————

They had gotten out of the building and made it half a block away when the explosives went off and the streets filled with screaming, terrified civilians.

But Root and the others with her were silent. Shaken, and fiercely angry.

Shaw led the way, closely followed by Lionel, and the pair of them alone had felled half a dozen more Samaritan goons on their way out of the building.

Two faces that they hadn’t seen were those of Martine and of Greer himself.

Now, down on the street with flames burning in the large hole that Root had left in the side of Samaritan’s building, sirens wailed.

After a few blocks of walking, Shaw paused and grabbed Fusco by the elbow with her right hand, the handcuffs still dangling beneath it, then growled something to him that caused him to nod and part from the rest of them. Whatever it was that had caused him to separate from them had been spoken too quietly for Root and John to hear.

John, who was still carrying Harold.

John, whose eyes found Harold’s face every chance that he got. The blood coating Harold’s mouth. His eyes shut like he could have been asleep were it not for the rest of him looking so destroyed.

The streets were so chaotic after the explosion that while people _did_ notice that Reese was carrying a man in his arms, everyone simply assumed that he had been hurt in the blast and kept running and shouting to one another.

And then, as Shaw, Root, and Reese continued back towards the subway station, Root began to pick up the words yelled by other pedestrians.

Explosions across the country. Factories, warehouses, offices. Blown up. Burning. Firemen and police racing to the scenes of dozens upon dozens of acts of terrorism spreading across innumerable small towns. A series of attacks on America. No, other countries were reporting bombings as well. The start of a war. ISIS. Russia. China. Iraq. Iran. Right wing gun lobbyists making a point. Obama and his fellow African Muslims. Names thrown back and forth between panicked people. And every one of the accusations was so wrong. But theories were repeated and repeated again until they were spoken by news reporters on televisions in windows that they passed.

“We are receiving confirmation that this _was_ in fact an act of terror, and the militant group known by the name of _ISIS_ is responsible,” one news reporter spouted confidently, horror clear in her eyes despite how hard she was trying to keep herself together.

And on the television beside hers?

“Now, we are still waiting for officials to give _any guess_ at the number of casualties of these attacks, but exclusive sources have _confirmed_ that North Korea has been planning these attacks for _months_.” This man was equally committed to his own belief. It looked like he might have been crying just before they put him on the air.

Wrong. And wrong again.

The responsible party was currently walking through the crowds swarming New York City, covered in blood. A handful of people with an artificial super-intelligence at their backs.

Trying to do good and leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Root wondered if they had done the right thing, and as they passed strangers on the street, she thought of every person that she had instructed to place bombs in every Samaritan facility across the country. Had they all lived? And had the buildings been cleared as the Machine had planned?

Root didn’t know.

The Machine had gone quiet in her ear.

——————————

Shaw drew Reese aside when they finally got to the subway station, and Root watched them murmur between themselves, then Reese made a call quietly.

“What are you doing?” Root asked Shaw. The shorter woman brushed past her without making eye contact, entering the subway car.

“ _Sam_ , I’m _sorry_.” Root tried desperately again to get Sameen’s attention. But Shaw was determinedly avoiding looking at Root.

Then Reese returned.

“Zoe agreed. She’ll be here as soon as she can but we shouldn’t wait for her. She’ll keep Harold until we get back,” Reese told Shaw as he pocketed his phone. Fusco and Bear appeared in the entryway and approached them, standing beside the car. Fusco and Reese were both looking to Shaw for some direction, but the dark-haired woman’s eyes were on the ground.

“Where are we going?” Root asked. No one answered her. Each of their faces contorted with rage. Shaw reloaded her gun.

“ _You’re_ not going anywhere,” Shaw growled without looking at her. Root recoiled from the sting of Shaw’s anger.

“I don’t understand,” Root said, her voice shaking. Shaw motioned for the men to go ahead inside of the subway car.

“Make sure you get enough ammo,” she told their retreating figures, and Reese turned towards her with a wounded, furious frown that Sameen wouldn’t acknowledge.

“Shaw, where are you going?” Root asked, her eyes jumping between the others. Shaw almost spoke, her eyes somewhere near Root’s knees, and then paused, her lips pursed and head tilting slightly to one side as her eyes unfocused.

Root recognized the gesture and spine-chilling fear shot through her, causing her to stand up straighter in alarm. Her voice cracked when she asked, “Is She talking to you?”

“You’re staying here,” Shaw growled, ignoring the question.

“No. No, I don’t understand,” Root repeated, her voice much higher than usual and tight with a mixture of fear, confusion, and betrayal. Shaw’s eyes finally found hers, and Root felt afraid. Afraid of Shaw. Afraid of how angry she looked.

“Yeah, you do,” Shaw said, rage making her voice low and gritty. She snarled the words. “You’re. Staying. Here.”

“Why?” Root asked, unsure if she was talking to Sameen or to Her.

“Why are you doing this?” Root continued when neither answered. The words broke in her throat, and she felt small and childish. Sameen had the stony, angry look of determination that meant Root would not be able to change her mind.

“The Machine needs _someone_ to live. To be here when all of this is over,” Sameen said, her own voice coming from the deepest recesses of her throat, quiet and firm. In Root’s ear, she was receiving statistics. The chance of them surviving was extremely slim. And the Machine had figured out that this time around, removing one of them from the equation did not diminish the odds for the rest of them. Removing more than one person would cause the statistics to drop, but if She could keep one person safe without further endangering the others, the Machine had decided that’s what should be done. Shaw’s lips pursed and she looked directly into Root’s eyes. Root saw that Shaw’s pupils and irises were like two black marbles. “It has to be you.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Root said. The Machine wouldn’t show her the numbers any other way. Wouldn’t show her what the outcome would be if Root took Shaw’s place in whatever plan She had put together. When Root spoke again, she was begging. “Tell me the other statistics.”

The Machine wouldn’t do it. Self-preservation had dictated that She shouldn’t tell Root the other scenarios. The Machine knew Root would not be logical, so She was stonewalling her.

Shaw knew that Root wasn’t getting anything from the Machine. Root could tell from the sympathetic look on Shaw’s face, tucked under the edge of her mask of rage.

“Tell me what She wants you to do, and I’ll do it with you. Let me help,” Root pleaded with Shaw, trembling.

“No, Root. You’re not coming. I think things are fucked up enough already, don’t you?” Shaw said as she shook her head, sliding a clip into the 9mm with her broken hand, swollen and misshapen. Her face barely betrayed the pain that the action undoubtedly brought. “This isn’t negotiable. You know that.”

John exited the subway car with a submachine gun, the dark circles under his eyes and the tight scowl making him look more menacing than Root had ever seen him. Fusco and Bear followed. Even the dog looked more intimidating than before, like he had absorbed the extra scalding heat in the team.

“We’ll be in the stairwell,” Reese growled at Shaw, and walked past them with Fusco. John looked bigger, somehow, like he was so angry that he was taking up more space than usual.

Root found herself gasping for air. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the half-dark subway station. Shaw clenched her jaw shut tightly and shoved her gun into the waistband of her pants, watching Root hyperventilate.

Then, to Root’s surprise, Shaw grabbed Root and hugged her tightly against her chest. With her mouth beside Root’s right ear, Shaw said something against her neck, and Root couldn’t hear, couldn’t make out what she’d said because that was her bad ear and she was shaking too much in her panic. She wanted to ask Sameen to repeat herself, not sure if she’d chosen that ear on purpose or if Root was meant to have heard, but she couldn’t find her voice.

Then Shaw pulled away, and Root could see anger, of course, but also endless other emotions in her mouth and her eyes and the crease in her forehead. Too many for Root to name. Rage and fear and sadness and desire and apology and forgiveness and… something else. Something soft and quiet. What was that? And then Shaw was kissing her, desperately, her unbroken hand hard on the back of Root’s head. Root scrambled to hold Sameen against her, but the shorter woman was already ducking away.

“ _Zit_ ,” Shaw commanded Bear, who sat down immediately, looking offended but still as obedient as ever. Shaw pointed a finger at Root’s feet, her eyes still on the dog. “ _Bewaken_.”

Then she was turning and heading up the steps without looking back.

“ _Please_ ,” Root cried out, but Shaw didn’t pause. Returning the same treatment that Root had given her not six hours ago. When Harold was still alive and Root thought she was protecting Sameen.

Root stood there, dumbfounded and shaking, trying to breath and failing, exhaling in little bursts. She wanted to follow Shaw, but the Machine told her to stay. That it would only make the eventual odds of success worse if she didn’t. So her arms hung limply at her sides, useless.

The woman she loved had gone. Probably for the last time. It took her brain, dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the panic that was racing through her, a long couple of seconds to sort out that thought: the woman she loved. Finally it clicked, each word falling into place inside of her between the helpless gasps for air. _Love_. Yes. Root felt like she was going to pass out and leaned against the subway car heavily, lowering herself to the ground with shaking hands. She loved Sameen. She _loved_ her.

And Sameen was probably going to die.

Root’s heart pounded hard and fast in her chest, so sharp and painful that she wondered if she was having a heart attack. Or if she was about to throw up. A cold sweat broke out on her skin and she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry desperately. She already _was_ crying, she realized, but she couldn’t get enough air to sob properly, tears streaming down her face.

_This is not fair_. Inside, Root yelled. Or maybe it was aloud. She couldn’t tell.

_It’s not fair_. Again. And again.

Once upon a time, it would have been unlike her to think that way- to assess whether something was unjust. She had thought that things simply _were_. There was nothing anyone could do to change the fact that bad things happened. That people themselves were bad. But now, in a panicked rage, her mind became fixed on Harold and Sameen. Hell- John, Lionel, even Joss, who she’d never gotten to know. The team. Her family. Good people who had helped countless others, most of whom had no idea they were being saved. And now the team members were dead or on their way, all of them. And it was her own fault for leading them into war and then selfishly refusing to listen to the Machine when she thought she was being asked to sacrifice Sameen.

_Not fair. Not fair. It’s not fair_.

From somewhere deep inside of her, faintly, Sameen’s words came to her. The words from months ago, when Root cried in her arms, a bullet wound fresh in her elbow: _You’re okay_. Syncopated. The words interrupted the racing rhythm of _Not fair_.

_You’re okay_. They repeated. Root fought for a deep breath, feeling like she was losing her grip on the floor of Harold’s subway station- like she might slide away into the dark, abandoned tunnels and never find her way out again.

_It’s not fair_.

_You’re okay_. Another deep breath, filling her desperate, raw lungs.

_You’re okay_.

The words repeated like a mantra, and Root breathed deep, burning inhales with them until she wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. But the words, despite helping her move past the worst of the panic attack, were wrong.

Nothing was okay.

Root sobbed. Wept. Crumpled on the floor.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everybody! I know that my note may have misled some of you— I was trying to say what I wanted to say without spoiling anything. It’s remarkably difficult sometimes!
> 
> I hope I haven’t broken any hearts and spirits. Please keep reading, friends! I can… uhhh… send you cute pictures of my cats? Or play you a song? Yeah, I’ve got nothing.
> 
> The chapters I’m working on that are coming keep getting long-winded and sort of disjointed, so I’ve re-outlined the rest of the story and it’s looking like it’ll be fifty nine chapters now. (I know, holy crap this story is long). My plan is to post the last chapter on December 31st, which means that there will be slightly more than a chapter a week.
> 
> Chapter Fifty Three _should_ be up next Saturday, November 28th. Given that it’s almost fully written at this point, nothing should prevent that from happening. Well, unless a rogue turkey stomps my laptop and external hard drive. But they better freaking not. That’d be an asshole move. And you know what we do with turkey asshole here in ‘Murica? We put food inside it, cook it, and eat it. (Stuffing is weird… and delicious…)
> 
> Now that I’ve been sufficiently weird and wasted two minutes of your time, _on to the story!_

Shaw met Reese and Fusco at the top of the stairs.

“We need to get that set.” Reese nodded at Shaw’s hand as they exited onto the street. Sameen didn’t acknowledge him. She was still reeling with anger. Angry at Root for trying to keep her from helping. Angry at the Machine for not keeping them safe. Angry at Samaritan. And angry that she couldn’t do something more. That she hadn’t done her job well enough. That she didn’t have a clue at how to make Root stop hyperventilating, and even if she did she wouldn’t have been able to stay to do it. Truth be told, she didn’t _want_ to stay there, and didn’t want the others to think she was open to conversation.

So without answering, she started to walk. And Fusco and Reese followed.

But then the Machine started speaking in her ear again. Relaying instructions.

Fusco was to go to an address and pick up a woman. And while he completed one errand, Shaw and Reese would go and run another. 

As soon as Reese heard from Shaw what the address was that they were heading to and for what purpose, his expression had gotten impossibly darker, but he knew better to refuse.

They parted from Fusco, and not long afterward, Reese and Shaw found themselves silently stepping into a decorated office. She knew that this wasn’t where Reese wanted to be, but the Machine needed things to get done quickly, and had determined that this was the fastest way to get what they needed.

“Hello John,” Carl Elias greeted the pair with a smile that was a ghost of his old mocking grin. The mob boss’ eyes looked them both over. “If you’re here about the bombings, you’ve come to the wrong place. Honestly. None of my sources can tell me anything about it at all.”

“I know,” Reese said. Elias cocked an eyebrow, clearly expecting some sort of explanation.

“I’m not in trouble again, am I?” Elias asked, the corners of his mouth curling in a little smirk. Reese blinked slowly at him.

“We need some fire power,” John told Elias, his voice low.

“And what makes you think I have any to give?”

Reese looked up at Elias from beneath his eyebrows and Elias grinned. Then his eyes drifted to Shaw, looking down at her hands curiously. She knew how bad they looked. One was so raw that it might as well have been skinned, with the pair of handcuffs still painfully rubbing into the wrist. And the other was thoroughly mangled. Pulsating painfully.

Plus, their clothes were still covered in blood that was growing ever-darker as it dried.

Elias’ eyes narrowed, clearly realizing that Shaw and Reese were somehow involved with the bombings. Shaw doubted he knew which side of them they were on.

“You two off leash?” Elias asked. Neither of them replied. “You know John, the last time you came to me to talk about _guns_ , your Pops was out of town.”

Still, neither of them offered any response. Shaw’s throat tightened at the mere mention of Harold.

“If you’re throwing a party, make sure the house is clean before he gets back,” Elias teased.

“We’ve got money,” John told him, ignoring the sarcasm and holding open the bag of cash that they had stopped off to retrieve from one of their safe houses. His voice sounded rough, and Shaw knew that he had felt the same way that she had when Elias had brought up Finch.

Her phone vibrated. It was a text from the Machine.

“Wheels up in an hour,” she told John quietly, her dark eyes glued to Elias’s face. The man looked at her thoughtfully.

“How is Harold?” Elias asked, turning back once more to Reese, in a way that made it clear he was testing the water, trying to figure out why they were there.

John’s eyes pressed shut, and Shaw’s mouth twisted into a violent sneer. The eyes of the criminal slid between them again and he slowly nodded in understanding with a tight-lipped smile.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Shaw was surprised that his apology seemed genuine.

Reese’s face stayed solemn and stoic.

“Who was responsible?” Elias asked.

Neither Shaw nor Reese answered.

Elias waited to see if they might change their minds and explain what had happened. When they didn’t, he turned and motioned for them to follow him.

“What is it that you’re looking for?” he asked as he opened a door behind the ornate desk and revealed a room full of guns.

On any other day, Shaw would have been giddy with excitement in the face of so many illegal weapons. But not now. Now, she only had a mind for the business ahead of them. Finishing this thing with Samaritan once and for all. And getting revenge for Harold’s death.

Shaw gestured to a few weapons that the Machine directed her to, the stilted voice still not quite comfortable. Shaw felt like there was an itch deep in her ear canal every time the Machine spoke.

Reese gathered up the things Shaw showed him and a few other weapons, then dropped the bag of money on the table beside them.

“I don’t want your money,” Elias replied quickly, as if he were offended.

“And I don’t want to owe you anything,” John said, just as fast.

Elias shook his head gently. It was dismissive, but also incredibly sad.

“You don’t owe me, John,” he said, each word deliberate. “Not for this.”

His eyes shifted between them, lips turned down into a slight frown. John acknowledged Elias by lifting a shotgun and leaning it against his shoulder.

“If you need some extra manpower, you let me know,” the man told them earnestly as they left. Shaw could tell that Reese was fighting off tears, and she couldn’t think of anything to say back to the mob boss, so they left without another word.

——————————

Reese and Shaw continued their errands in silence. Even when Shaw wordlessly pulled a dry-cleaning bag from a rack in an open truck as they passed, Reese only looked at her warily. She knew what he was thinking— that Shaw was doing the exact things that Root usually did. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he knew better than to ask what had happened that had led to this bizarre switch.

They met Fusco on the runway. He had a large bag over one shoulder and a tall woman in tow, wearing a lab coat and burgundy scrubs.

“You want me to get on a plane? Then you have to tell me what it is that you want from me.” She said the words as if this were the hundredth time she’d asked and at this point, she was almost as annoyed as she was afraid. Lionel looked like he was getting fed up with her.

“This is Dr. Jaslene Martin. She’s an _orthopedist_ at the Hospital for Special Surgery,” Lionel told Shaw, gesturing at the imposing woman whose arms were crossed stubbornly over her chest. Shaw nodded as she realized that the Machine had sent Fusco to get a doctor to look at the bones in her hand. And hopefully the bag that Lionel was carrying had everything that might be necessary to set them to heal. Or do surgery, if that was what the doctor thought should be done.

“Hope you’re good. I need this thing to work,” Shaw growled, lifting her broken hand and grinding her teeth as the movement caused her whole appendage to throb painfully. The doctor’s arms unfolded as she took a step towards the Persian woman, already entering full doctor-mode. Reese stepped between them.

“You can look at it on the plane,” he murmured. Martin looked at him over her thin-rimmed glasses, and he raised his eyebrows at her. “We’ve got a tight schedule.”

“And money,” Shaw added, nodding for Reese to show her the bag of cash that Elias had turned down. “We’ll pay you.”

The woman didn’t seem enticed, but realized that her kidnappers weren’t going to take no for an answer.

On the plane, Fusco handed Shaw the key to the handcuffs. She immediately gave him a dark look. She wasn’t going to be able to unlock it herself. Her left hand hurt and her right hand couldn’t easily reach the lock. Lionel realized his mistake and took the key back from her.

Finally, the handcuffs were released from Shaw’s right wrist and the doctor looked on hesitantly as Shaw turned her right hand to examine the stinging flesh.

“Who are you people?” Martin asked as the empty plane sped down the runway and lifted into the air.

“We might be the only good guys left,” Reese said quietly with a morose smile. The doctor wasn’t thrilled by this statement.

“Do you… were you in one of those buildings where the bombs went off?” She asked. It wasn’t a farfetched question to ask. _Everyone_ knew that a building had been blown open in Manhattan. And to be kidnapped within an hour of the panic’s start by someone who had been wounded was unlikely to be coincidence. “Do you know what happened? Who did it?”

John turned and looked out the window, forlorn, leaving the doctor to wait for Sameen or Fusco to answer. But Fusco had shut them out as well, deciding to let Sameen and the doctor to talk. And Shaw wasn’t about to answer that question.

“What happened?” the doctor asked again. Shaw stayed stoic and silent, and Martin shook her head. “I’m not doing anything about your hand until you tell me what’s going on. I won’t help a terrorist.”

Shaw realized that the doctor was serious. She hated that this woman thought that they were terrorists. And even more, Shaw hated that she _couldn’t_ explain that even though they _were_ responsible for the explosions, that didn’t make them the “bad guys” or whatever monicker was being attached to them. The last thing that they needed was for her to repeat things that would eventually reach the ISA. The Machine was protecting them now, but if there were reports that Shaw was involved with the attacks, the Machine wouldn’t be able to stop Control from sending people to look for them. This woman would know where they’d gone and be able to point people straight for them. And Shaw, Reese, and Fusco had enough on their plate without Control’s helper monkeys hunting them down.

“Look. What we’re doing is a matter of national security. There’s a lot going on that the public isn’t aware of, and we’re trying to stop some very bad people from doing anything worse than what they’ve already done,” Shaw said. She hoped that she had successfully made it sound as though it was someone else that had set off all of the bombs. Someone that they were after.

If Shaw had learned one thing from Root, it was that if you used the right handful of words, you could make people believe a lie by earnestly telling them the truth.

She felt like she had waited an eternity before Martin reacted.

And then finally, Martin turned and pulled a box of rubber gloves out of the bag that Fusco had been carrying.

“Show me your hands,” she said, motioning for Shaw to hold them out.

Martin examined Shaw’s wrists, cleaning them both and loosely bandaging the unbroken one before moving on to really examine the left. Shaw knew that Martin was trying to figure out what had caused the break.

“Who did this to you?” The doctor asked. “Is this from the handcuffs?”

Shaw didn’t answer, and Martin sighed.

The bruising on Shaw’s hand and wrist had darkened to an almost purple blue tint. As she turned Shaw’s wrist, she somehow managed to be both gentle and authoritative with her touch. Shaw thought back to her stint in medical school and knew that she would never have been able to master this part. Diagnosing wasn’t ever particularly hard, surgery was _fun_ , and she was quick to decide what should be done to solve a problem. But interacting with a patient and being able to strong-arm them into doing what they were told while also making them feel listened to and affectionately cared for was far outside of Shaw’s comfort zone and abilities. 

“If I didn’t know better…” the doctor started, and then paused, shaking her head.

“You did it yourself, didn’t you? To get out of the cuffs?” The doctor finally finished her thought. She was trying to disguise her alarm, but was having a hard time. Shaw could tell that Reese and Fusco were both eavesdropping, curious about what exactly had happened that had led to Shaw swooping in to try to save them at the last second, her hand mangled.

“You sound impressed,” Shaw replied with a sneer. Martin’s eyebrows raised.

“I know how much force it takes to break your hand. You would have to be _extremely_ motivated,” the doctor said.

When Shaw only looked at her darkly, Martin shook her head again and looked down at the swollen hand in front of her, examining the bruising. When she pressed against the side of Shaw’s thumb, the Persian woman hissed and tried to yank her hand away.

Martin cleared her throat.

“You’re lucky that I had just gotten a call that I was being sent out to do field triage. They said they needed one of the hospital’s portable x-rays and supplies to make casts.” Shaw knew that _luck_ had nothing to do with it as Martin reached into the bag, pulling out a number of objects. The Machine had planned all of this.

Shaw’s eyes tracked the doctor’s movement as the woman worked. The Persian woman didn’t like how statuesque and controlled Martin was. Or rather, she didn’t like how vulnerable it made her feel. Like she was at a disadvantage. Especially with her hand so screwed up. The doctor didn’t seem the least bit scared of Shaw.

The doctor took an x-ray and while waiting to give it a look, she gave Shaw an ice pack and told her to keep her hand up above her heart.

Then eventually the x-ray had developed and Martin looked it over. Shaw watched as she began to pull padding and rolls of fiberglass cast material out of the bag.

“You broke the meta-carpal in your thumb. You’re extremely fortunate— the bone fragments are lined up nicely, so I wouldn’t recommend surgery unless it doesn’t heal on its own. We’ll—” Martin seemed to realize as the plane shook under her feet that there was no _we_ , just _her_ , kidnapped by an angry trio of strangers who had forced her onto a plane with a destination she didn’t know. “I’ll make a cast for it.”

“I’m gonna be a little bit _busy_ , and I need to be able to use it,” Shaw told her, irritated. “Why don’t you do me a favor and just give me some pain meds.”

The doctor laughed.

“You broke your thumb, honey. You’re not going to be able to use your hand for _quite a while_. The cast needs to stay on for six weeks _at least_ , and you’ll have to take it easy for a lot longer. That is best case scenario,” Martin said. She spoke like she was scolding a child, and it made Shaw’s blood boil. Maybe this woman’s bedside manner wasn’t so good after all. “You’re going to have to get it looked at at the end of the six weeks, and your doctor should be able to get a better idea then if it needs surgery.”

“I don’t _have_ six weeks,” Shaw growled, her right hand balled into a fist in her lap. Honestly, she wasn’t sure that she was going to be _alive_ in a month and a half, much less seeing a doctor about a tiny broken bone in her finger. She just needed some serious pain medications so she could get through the oncoming fight without constantly flinching when her hand got brushed.

“I don’t _care_ ,” the doctor replied.

“Can’t you put one of those finger braces on it?” she asked, knowing full well that as soon as they were apart, she’d be ripping it off.

“Not on a thumb. And not when your bone is broken,” the doctor said, growing impatient and amused. She held up the x-ray and Shaw could see the fragment near the joint, completely detached. Reese had turned and watched as Shaw got more and more worked up. When she opened her mouth to argue further, he stood from his seat.

“Let her make the cast,” he told Shaw. Then, when he was sure that Sameen was going to cooperate, he walked to the opposite end of the plane and sat down again.

Martin watched him go, and then held up a bag of different colored rolls of casting tape. It was like a goddamn clown had thrown up into am over-sized zip-top baggie.

“Color preference?” the doctor asked sarcastically. Shaw ground her teeth.

——————————

Shaw sat by herself, looking out of the little oval window at the sky that was growing darker by the minute. Traveling east over the Atlantic, it felt like the night was racing to swallow them whole.

Her hand hurt in the brand new fiberglass cast, each beat of her heart sending little radiations of pain up from her wrist to her elbow. At least she’d lucked out and there had been enough rolls of black casting tape to keep her from having to try to disguise a giant neon pink object while they did whatever it was the Machine was sending them to do.

Trying to keep the offending extremity motionless caused her to keep her shoulder tight, which only meant more aching discomfort.

It was going to be a long flight.

Shaw’s mind was on what Dr. Martin had said. The doctor had been surprised, and pointed out the amount of motivation it would take to break your hand the way that Shaw had. Although Shaw had only glared scornfully at the comment at the time, the doctor wasn’t wrong.

Shaw swallowed hard as she finally took the time to dwell on the events that had led her here, to this point, on a transatlantic flight to ensure that Samaritan and its creators were finished.

After Root had gone from the station, leaving Sameen naked and enraged and trapped, Shaw kept struggling, furiously twisting and trying to position herself so that she could put pressure on the joints of the handcuffs.

She’d done this before. Knew exactly how she needed the links of the chain between the metal bracelets to grab and lock so that she could break the handcuffs. Knew all of the maneuvers for picking the lock. She always had _something_ on her to use. She’d practiced time and again the positioning of her hands as the handcuffs went on. The positioning of her body that would make the break-out easiest. It paid to be prepared. Especially in Shaw’s line of work.

But Shaw had let Root get in her head. She’d trusted her. And with that trust, all preparation had been thrown out the window.

They had played with bound hands and relinquishing control before. It wasn’t like it was a new concept. They’d even talked about the fucking color-coded system. Root had agreed to it, and _used it_. Shaw had thought that meant that they were on the same page. That Root could be trusted.

Shaw had been wrong. Root had played her.

What made the whole thing absolutely blood-boiling was that it hadn’t been a spur of the moment, split-second decision. It wasn’t as if they’d been engaged in their game and suddenly, Root had been called away. Like Root had realized in that instant that they were called that she could just leave Shaw behind as the rest of them suited up and headed into battle. No. Root had _planned_ it.

It had been so calculated. With that god damn seductive smirk and the demanding way that the brunette had told her to get undressed. Shaw hadn’t thought about the fact that she was being disarmed. The fact that Root was removing anything that could be used to pick the lock. It didn’t occur to her that Root was pinning her arms above her head, putting her in the most difficult position possible to escape from. It hadn’t even crossed Shaw’s mind.

And then Root had tried to drug her. _Again_. Luckily, this time Shaw had managed to stop her. But just because she wasn’t knocked unconscious didn’t mean that she could get free.

She had been in the middle of contorting herself to try to flip herself over the bar and off of the seats so that she could stand with her hands in front of her when there was a loud buzz and the offensive blare of feedback from the direction of Finch’s computers.

“Root?” Shaw called out, dropping her feet back down onto the bank of seats. She didn’t know what had caused the ear-piercingly loud sounds, and wanted to listen in case there was something else to be heard. So instead of continuing to try to hook her heel on the vertical pole that connected the armrest to the roof of the subway car so that she could pull herself over backwards, she let her back thud into the seats. Her spine was already sore from Root pushing her down into the hard plastic repeatedly, and she felt beyond exhausted. She wondered if she’d gotten more of whatever Root had tried to stick into her thigh than she’d thought. The memory of Root’s mouth on her skin made her even angrier. _That_ was probably why she was tired, she knew.

“Sierra. Oscar. Sierra.”

Shaw had frozen, hands balled into fists above her head. The voice had been robotic. Familiar.

The Machine.

Shaw started to breathe rapidly again. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath in the first place.

Then morse code came through Finch’s speakers. Three short tones, three long, then three short again. An SOS.

“I can’t help you,” Shaw had yelled, then immediately felt stupid for trying to talk to Harold’s computer. The messages repeated, and Shaw shook with anger as she yelled. “She _handcuffed_ me. What do you expect me to do?”

And then the Machine had spoken. Given her an address. A building near Wall Street.

“What is that? Is that where Root is?” Shaw asked, fighting again against the handcuffs.

But the Machine didn’t say, just repeated the SOS.

Shaw wasn’t stupid. She had realized that the Machine saw that Root and the others were in danger. And betrayal or not, if something happened to their team, a lot of innocent people would die at the hands of Samaritan.

Shaw had tried once more to wedge herself between the windows and the pole intended to give subway riders something to hold onto, twisting herself over the bar that she was handcuffed to. She tumbled and bashed her knees, her shoulders sore from contorting. But she was flipped over then and able to look down at her hands and at the very least, see what she was doing.

The Machine had kept on repeating the warnings and the address and it was a fucking robotic voice but somehow it was still able to express _panic_ and Shaw had _understood_ and wondered if _this_ was what Root was always hearing in her ear. It couldn’t be. How could anyone stay half-sane with _this_ constantly chattering inside their skull? These frenetic cries for help. And the _feedback_ was horrible. Harsh and distracting.

That had been when it clicked. Feedback. That meant that there was a microphone turned on. Shaw realized that the Machine was listening to her through an internal recording device in Finch’s computer and wondered if the AI had done that before.

“I don’t know what to do,” she’d yelled, her voice shaking because she was so mad at Root.

Her hair had stuck to her forehead and she couldn’t fucking wipe it out of her face because she was still handcuffed, but at least then she could see what she was doing as she tried to turn her wrists to make the links lock up and break. But she couldn’t get them to do it. They weren’t the right kind of set. The police had updated their gear. And even then, having flipped over so that she was standing, Shaw couldn’t reach anything that could help her escape. Nothing was close enough for her to get to.

“Go.” The Machine told her. Then continued on repeating the SOS.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Shaw had barked. Her phone had started vibrating somewhere nearby. Morse code again. Another SOS.

“God damn it, Root,” Shaw hissed to herself as she looked down at her hands, the skin broken and beginning to bleed a bit in a ring around each wrist.

She was still too far from anything she could use to pick the lock. The chain wouldn’t snap. The pole was steel and far too strong for her to break. But Shaw had to escape. She had to get out.

She knew what she was going to have to do. And she knew that it wasn’t going to be easy.

Shaw tried to get a grip on the chain with her right hand and tried to fold her left hand so that her thumb was tight against her palm. And then she started trying to force her hand through the circle of metal. Her face twitched in revulsion and pain as she pulled as hard as she could.

Her hand wouldn’t fit. She couldn’t press her thumb close enough into her palm to let the broadest point of her hand get through, and she was pulling so hard that her muscles burned.

“Fuck,” she cursed again, trying to relax her hands for a moment. They were cramping, and her fingers were shaking from working so hard. The Machine had continued to inundate her with that same message over and over.

And then it changed. That robotic voice proclaimed that danger was imminent.

Shaw needed to try her last remaining tactic.

With a deep breath, she bashed her left hand against the steel pole. Again. And once more in the same place, hoping beyond hope that if she could break something in her wrist she could squeeze her hand through the little metal circle.

Again. And again. And again.

Each pounding of flesh against unforgiving metal more painful than the last. Harder. And then, with a particularly forceful smash, she could practically feel her bones giving way. She growled incoherently, covered all over in cold sweat, and felt a strong wave of nausea with the pain as she frantically looked down at her hand, saw how disfigured it had become, and with one last twist and wrench assisted by her right hand, she manipulated it through the handcuff before it could swell.

“Fuck,” she managed through her clenched teeth as her eyes screwed shut and she stepped back from the subway seats. She found her hands and arms shaking with adrenaline.

Then her phone had started ringing. She lunged towards the sound, fumbling with her right hand through the pockets of her crumpled clothes on the floor of the metro car until she found it, and answered the call from the blocked number.

“Root?” She asked.

But it was the Machine, giving her directions to the address that it had been repeating. Shaw had gotten dressed as quickly as she could with her bum hand, grabbed a gun, and shoved her earpiece into her ear as she raced up to the street to try to get to the rest of the team in time.

It was when she was inside of the building and attacking Samaritan’s guns for hire, speeding down hallways looking for any sign that Root, Harold, Reese, and Lionel had been there, when the Machine made a call for her, and finally Shaw was right when she asked if it was Root on the other end of the line.

Shaw had picked up her pace. She’d been running so fast, her lungs burning and every step jostling her broken hand excruciatingly, but she couldn’t stop because the Machine had called Root, and even Shaw, who barely understood how emotions worked, knew why the Machine had connected them.

Root and the others were _giving up_. The situation was so dire that the Machine truly wasn’t sure that Shaw was going to make it to them in time, and a disembodied automated voice couldn’t do anything more to help protect the others than it already had. So it was trying to give Root motivation to stay alive, and a moment of comfort in case she was killed. One last conversation with Shaw was the only thing the Machine could think to give its analog interface.

But Shaw was too busy trying to breathe to be much use over the phone, and Root had been so sure that she was going to die. She kept trying to say these things that weren’t productive or helpful. Even if they hadn’t been in a fire fight, Shaw wouldn’t have wanted to hear any of it. Especially not now, when Root had taken advantage of Shaw. When Shaw had let her guard down so completely only to be betrayed.

Being furious with Root didn’t mean that Shaw was willing to let her be killed.

And then Shaw had found them. And surprised Samaritan’s agents from behind, shooting them with ease.

She’d been so relieved to see Root peering out from behind her cover. And then John and Harold emerged, followed by Lionel.

Shaw wasn’t thinking clearly. Wasn’t following protocol, for one hundred reasons. Because she was just so damn glad that she’d made it in time. And because of whatever Root had stuck her with. And because of how tired she was after having sex and then fighting to escape. And her broken hand hurting, a constant pain. And the fire of anger in her stomach at Root that made it so that it was all Shaw could do to avoid looking at the brunette. For all of those reasons and more, Shaw wasn’t thinking straight.

For the second time that day, she had made a serious mistake. First, she had let Root fully disarm her. Second, she hadn’t cleared the guns from the men and women she’d shot.

It had slipped her mind completely as she watched Harold smile at her. He had looked so relieved. Like she was a hero.

And then he’d been shot.

Because Shaw hadn’t taken ten seconds to kick the guns away from the people on the ground.

Sitting on the plane now, Shaw felt like she was going to be eaten alive by her anger.

It was her fault that Harold had been killed, but she would not let his death go unavenged.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for continuing to come back for more of this crazy-long story and for letting me know how much you’re enjoying it! Chapter fifty-four should be posted this coming Friday, December 4th.

Root awoke. She wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep or passed out. She felt like it might have been the latter. Her mouth was dry, her head was pounding, and her body was stiff from being twisted uncomfortably on the cement floor of the subway station.

She willed herself to open her eyes, and saw that the dog was laying a few feet away, his chin on his front paws. His forlorn eyes were looking directly into her own, almost like he’d been waiting for her to wake up.

Root shifted her weight to turn away from him. She couldn’t take his added sadness’ weight. She already had too much.

When she rolled onto her side, something hard dug into her hip painfully. Still dopey with sleep, Root struggled to feel around beneath her. There was something inside of her jacket. Something small and uncomfortable. Her hand slipped inside and found it.

She didn’t need to look at the little piece of metal to know what it was.

The Order of Lenin.

As soon as she realized what it was, her throat constricted.

Shaw had slipped it into her pocket at some point before leaving. Before going wherever it was that the Machine had sent her. Before leaping headfirst into danger. Before disappearing, and maybe never coming home.

Root closed the fingers of her left hand on the medal so tightly that it hurt.

Her eyes squeezed shut once more, burning with fresh tears, and she suddenly lurched with a full-body sob that caught her by surprise. She sucked in a shaking breath and held it, trying to calm herself. Trying not to think about Shaw and the others in danger. Trying not to think about Harold. But of course, the more that she tried to repress those thoughts, they flooded her. A scabbed-over wound scraped and torn open.

She gasped another sob despite desperately trying to stop herself.

_Don’t cry_. She focused on the words, and her head pounded when she held in another breath.

The dog whined, startlingly close, and a wet tongue lapped at her face. She didn’t open her eyes, just put out her empty hand to push him away.

Instead of leaving Root alone, Bear curled up, his back against her knees.

His concern had broken her concentration. She pulled the medal from her pocket, still tightly gripped in her hand, and held it close against her chest. Fresh tears dripped off of the bridge of her nose onto the ground as she cried anew.

At some point, she fell asleep again.

——————————

Hours or days later, Root realized that the dog had moved.

Weakly, she got up and went to look for him. She found him asleep under Finch’s desk.

When Bear heard her footsteps, his head lifted hopefully. But he recognized her face, swollen from crying, and he put his head down once more on his paws, grief-stricken.

There was no sign of the others. The station was still silent and cold, and Root was still alone.

Alone and trembling.

She had no idea how much time had passed. It somehow felt simultaneously like only moments ago the others had left and that she’d been there crying for years.

Bear’s dishes were empty, and she wondered how long he’d gone without food. She filled them with water and the dry chow that they always kept for him, but he made no move towards them.

“You have to eat,” she told him. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.

The dog just looked at her, not even bothering to lift his head. She thought it looked like he understood everything that had gone on, and was mourning.

“Come on,” she told him, pointing at the dish. He got up, turned around, and lay down once more, facing the other direction.

He had to be hungry. Root knew that it must have been quite a while that they were alone, because she realized that he own stomach felt completely raw.

Thinking that it might entice Bear, she tried to eat some of the food that had been left in the little refrigerator. But when she took a bite, she felt like throwing up. She could barely swallow.

Her mind kept threatening to consume her again with the grief of losing Harold and the predicted demise of Shaw, Reese, and Fusco. It occurred to her suddenly that the others had left Harold there, on the first landing of the stairwell. Reese had put his body down so that he was laying peacefully on his back, hands folded on his stomach.

She had to see him. She wanted to sit with him. Apologize to him. She went to the stairs and slowly walked up them, feeling light-headed as she reached the landing.

But he wasn’t there. And the sheet that Reese had drawn over him was gone too. All that was left was a bloodstain. Surprisingly small.

She didn’t understand for a minute, standing in stunned, confused silence. And then she remembered that Shaw had said something to John, and that John had mentioned Zoe Morgan. The woman must have come while Root was asleep.

She had missed her opportunity to say one last, private goodbye. Harold was gone. Increasingly gone. That didn’t make sense, Root knew. He couldn’t be _more_ gone, but her heart raced with panic at the thought of not seeing him again. The reality of her loss hit her once more.

The creator of the Machine had been killed. Her _friend_. Everything he did was so good. So worthy of veneration. And, not for the first time, he would be laid to rest with only a handful or people even aware of his name. And even that was his _assumed_ name. His memorial would be attended by only a handful of people, when hundreds if not thousands upon thousands of people owed him their lives.

Root included herself in the group that he had saved. Both literally— when he had told Shaw that they couldn’t leave her behind in that enormous empty warehouse from which the Machine had moved Herself— and metaphorically.

He had helped teach her that her methods were flawed. That everyone mattered. And he had given her a home and a family, albeit unintentionally. If he hadn’t locked her up in the library, she never would have gotten to know Shaw.

The panic was also because it was alarming that Root could have been so unaware of what was going on around her while she grieved.

How could she have slept through Harold being taken away? Zoe wouldn’t have come alone, which meant that _multiple_ people had been there, in the subway station, and Root hadn’t noticed. Was she really that out of it? And if so, what would happen if someone _else_ came to the station? Someone who wasn’t there to help? What if Martine found the station, or any other of Decima’s goons? She would be caught off guard, and probably wouldn’t even have time to fight back. To defend herself.

Her heart raced in her chest and she could feel herself getting lightheaded.

Root needed to lay down again.

She turned and saw that the dog was sitting near the subway car, watching her.

With unsteady steps, Root went back down the stairs and walked over to the bed. The two mattresses pushed together. The blankets drawn flat and smooth. Tidy. Just like Sameen liked them.

Sameen, who wasn’t there.

The bed looked so big now. As if Root would disappear into it if she sat down. It was so _empty_.

Her throat drew tight and her head pulsated. She was going to cry again, and that seemed impossible because she’d already cried so much that she was surprised there was any liquid left inside of her to lose.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to get into the bed that had been Shaw’s before it had ever been partially Root’s.

Just when she was about to go back to lay down on the floor, she hear the quiet clicking of Bear’s nails on the floor. He passed her and hopped up onto the bed, walking gingerly up the length of the cots to curl up near the pillows.

He looked back at her, and Root could have sworn that he was trying to get her to follow. She sat down at the foot of the bed and pulled off her shoes, stalling so that she wouldn’t have to face the bed that Shaw was supposed to share with her.

But after she’d sat for a minute, she looked back at Bear. He was still watching her.

Slowly, she scooted up until she was beside him, shaking with unshed tears. He got up and moved to sit on her lap. And then she broke down again.

She sobbed into the dog’s fur, deep heaving sobs that made her ache all over, and he turned his head to lick at her fingers twisting in the hair on his back.

His body was overly warm on her lap, but it would never be enough to take the edge off of the cold emptiness. The empty bed in the empty hideout where Root and Bear had been left behind.

——————————

Shaw lurched awake. Her hand hurt so much that it was unsettling her stomach and the pain was creeping up her arm and into her elbow. Even her head was aching dully, a tightness behind her eyes.

She had been dreaming of Harold. Again. For the third time in as many days.

Dreaming about the last words he’d ever spoken, which had been to her. Only to her. It was unfair, when John had been right there, and when she was the least likely to appreciate any sentimentality.

And he had struggled to speak those words, with blood on his lips.

“It’s okay,” he had managed.

In retrospect, Shaw knew that they were supposed to be meaningful words, but she still didn’t feel as much as she knew that she should. Just anger. Because it _wasn’t_ okay.

It hadn’t just been in the US that bombs had gone off. There had been a few scattered across the globe. Japan. England. Germany. Argentina. Russia. India. France. Samaritan had spread itself too thin. The influence of the artificial intelligence extended far and wide, but Samaritan and Greer had underestimated the Machine. And Greer had counted on Samaritan to protect itself with guardians that were bought instead of earned.

He _hadn’t_ counted on the Machine being able to get so many people on its own side. Hadn’t counted on all of the average men and women whose loved ones had been twisted, taken advantage of, and tossed aside by Samaritan. Men and women, so-called weak civilians, who were offered a chance to stop this conglomerate of companies all manipulated by a single force. Offered a chance to get justice.

The Machine told Shaw that Greer was in London when the attacks occurred. So the three of them— Shaw, Reese, and Fusco— had crossed the Atlantic.

Sameen wasn’t clear on whether it had been intentional on the Machine’s part to wait until Decima’s head was away before waging war.

In any case, he must have realized that Samaritan was completely compromised, and that it left him vulnerable. Because try as the Machine might, it couldn’t find Greer. There was no reason to believe he’d left the city, because the Machine was watching every camera, even watching from inside of Samaritan and waiting for the old man to try to interact with this AI, but he seemed to have disappeared. Just like all of the innocent people that he had employed and then eventually gotten rid of to protect himself. He was simply gone.

But although _Greer_ was missing, there were other people that the Machine successfully caught wind of and sent Shaw, Reese, and Fusco after.

Multiple times over, they had followed the Machine’s directions and found themselves battling past Samaritan’s soldiers to enter a room where a handful of programmers were working at computers. The first few times, all of the people seemed determined but unafraid. And when faced with the Machine’s people, they would simply shoot themselves.

By the fourth and fifth time that they were sent out by the Machine, it was clear that these were the men and women from the bottom of the barrel. A last attempt to try to salvage Samaritan’s infrastructure to renew Decima’s power. They were frantic, wrought with despair, and at a loss as to what they should do to keep Samaritan from completely disintegrating. But they had still been fed the lines that Samaritan used to keep its people loyal: if you kill yourself to protect the program, your family will be taken care of. It was a lie, of course. Or the “care” provided was simply not enough for the remaining loved ones to be satisfied when faced with the loss of a member of their family. Especially not now, when Samaritan couldn’t protect _itself_ , much less all of the people that made up the families of these people.

Samaritan treated its employees like they were disposable. Paper cups at the dentist— used and trashed. Tossed into a landfill.

Each time that they witnessed a suicide, Shaw and Reese grew angrier. More impatient.

It was only made worse by the fact that at the end of the day, they returned to a spartan, unoccupied office to sleep on faded navy wall-to-wall carpet and prepare for their next raid. They sat in sullen silence, punctuated by bickering that drove Fusco up the wall. He became so frustrated with them that he would retreat into the records room just to get away from them.

They spent the better part of their time waiting for news. For instructions that came as a chatter in Shaw’s ear. She still hadn’t gotten used to it. And while it did help her keep one step ahead of whatever grunts and gunmen Samaritan sent to protect its glorified IT department, and it did help make up for the disadvantage of having a broken thumb, she wished that the Machine would stop. She hated it.

She hated the way that it didn’t answer her questions directly. The way it picked and chose what it wanted her to know. And when she did have a quiet second to ask it questions not related to their missions, she couldn’t bring herself to ask what she really wanted to know out of fear that it wouldn’t tell her. Or, if it did, that she wouldn’t like the answer.

Questions like ‘Was there something more that I should have done?’ Or ‘Where is Root?’ ‘Is Bear protecting her like I told him to?’ and ‘Is she okay?’ Or questions that the Machine wouldn’t know the answer to, but Shaw desperately wanted to know. ‘Was Harold in pain?’

——————————

Time passed strangely in the subway station. The day and night were indistinguishable. Because there was no sun rising and setting, and because Root found little motivation to get up out of bed. She drifted in and out of sleep. Was prone to bouts of tears. When she _did_ get up, Bear was always close by. Like he was trying to remind her that she wasn’t _completely_ alone.

One morning (Or afternoon? Evening? Did it matter?) it occurred to her that instead of simply tracing the images on the Order of Lenin with the tip of her finger, she should check it for some sort of bug. Shaw had used it to keep track of Root without asking before, and she wanted to know if Sameen was watching her now. She turned the medal over in her hand, pulling the ribbon apart.

There was no tracker now. No tiny recording device. Nothing.

It seemed that Shaw had no ulterior motive for giving the Order of Lenin to Root this time around. Instead, it really did appear that it was a gesture. That Root was forgiven, or might have been someday. Something to remember Shaw by. Something to remind Root that Shaw cared. Or had cared once. There was no way of knowing if Sameen still cared now. And there was no way of knowing if Sameen would make it through this fight so that Root could try to explain why she’d done what she’d done.

Root thought back to the last moments that Shaw had still been there. Root decided that Shaw must have put it in the pocket of her jacket when she had hugged her and said… whatever it was that she’d said in Root’s ear. Root wondered still if it had been intentional, speaking into the ear that Root couldn’t hear out of anymore. Had it been an instruction? A request? An accusation? What? Root didn’t know for sure, but the medal suggested that it had been something… kind?

It could have been that Shaw had said the same words that Root herself had landed on as she struggled to overcome her panic attack. Maybe Shaw had told Root that she loved her. That was ridiculous. Stupid.

Right?

Root tightened her hand on the Order of Lenin.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Whatever it was, it had been spoken right after Shaw had crushed Root to her chest. Right before she’d kissed her. Right as she slipped the medal into the pocket of Root’s jacket. It didn’t seem _too_ farfetched to think that Shaw could have said something sweet in the last moment before she left Root alone. Weeping.

Or the Order of Lenin could have been left with Root because Shaw had attached memories of Root to the little medal, and didn’t want anything to do with them anymore. Maybe the lack of tracking device this time around meant that Shaw didn’t care where Root was.

_Then why would she have kissed me?_

As quickly as the thought entered Root’s mind, a rebuttal was formed: because Shaw wanted Root to stay, and it was the quickest way to get Root to shut up and do as she was told. A means to an end.

Root had convinced herself of this once before, that Shaw was using Root’s emotions as a way to get what she wanted, and she had been wrong then. So she didn’t want to believe it could be true now. The kiss had been genuine. It had to have been.

But Root wasn’t so sure, and couldn’t let herself dwell on that memory of the full-fledged panic attack. It was too easy to slip back into the horror of that day and end up fighting for oxygen all over again. So she stood up from the bed, determined to _do_ something. Her head spun with the sudden rush of blood, and she had to sit down on the edge of the mattress until she could see again.

When she calmed, Bear was sitting in front of her, his front paws half an inch from the tips of her toes, his chin hovering at her knees.

She would go outside, Root decided. She would take Bear and they would get some air. It could only do them good. There was no food left for either of them, not that either one of them had been eating much of anything, and she was fairly sure that the dog had been sneaking into the black tunnels extending from the station to relieve himself.

Shaking, she stood, slower this time. Bear stood up as well, looking up into her face curiously.

She silently walked to the subway car, found his lead and a gun, and started toward the steps.

Out on the streets, she let Bear lead her, pulling on the leash enthusiastically and gluing his nose to the ground, then holding his head high. It was like he was looking for something. Finch or Reese or Shaw. Root didn’t know.

When people got to close to them on the sidewalk, the dog growled, deep in his throat. Root kept her free hand on the gun in her pocket, the Order of Lenin pressed against her knuckles. She hardly had the stamina to tug on his leash and tell him to quit. She felt like she was in a haze.

And then, he stopped. Purposefully. He looked up at her, his tongue hanging out proudly, and she realized he wanted her to acknowledge something.

She looked up at the door that he was sitting outside of.

It was the library.

He had found the way back to their old hideout.

Root wanted to turn around and leave. Wanted to get as far from the library as possible, because it had been infiltrated and because she couldn’t stand the thought of going to Harold’s old space. When she stepped backwards, trying to get Bear to come with her, the dog whined and pawed at the door.

She didn’t know why she let the dog’s desire win. Maybe because deep down, she wanted to see if Harold’s books were still there. If the room where he had once kept her locked up was just as he’d left it.

They went inside quietly, Root keeping a wary eye out for any sign that they weren’t alone.

But they were, of course.

Bear lay down on his old bed like he’d never left.

Broken glass littered the floor, and many of Harold’s prized books had been torn from the shelves, pages crumpled and torn.

His computer looked as though it had been set on fire. Root wondered if he’d done that himself as he and John left to keep the intruders from accessing his files. It seemed likely.

_I’m sorry, Harold. I know it’s not enough._ Root found herself thinking the same words that she’d said once upon a time. When she had called to tell Harold that he would have to leave the library behind and run, never looking back. Just before they had all parted ways with their brand new cover identities that she had made into blind spots for Samaritan. It had been a lame apology that she offered because she didn’t know what else to say. She had already known then that there was almost no way that they would all make it through the coming war alive, even as she told the others that all they could do was survive.

Sitting in the backseat of that car all of those many months ago, she hadn’t guessed that it would be Harold that they would lose first. She had been almost completely certain at that point that it would be _her_ that died first. Possibly Reese, throwing himself in front of Finch.

Shaw had been silent in the driver’s seat, looking confused and scared when Root caught her eye in the rear view mirror. She had not angrily interrupted, as she usually did. Hadn’t offered her opinion condescendingly.

Once Root had started to explain their situation, all three of them, Finch, Shaw, and Reese, had fallen mute.

And as they had parted on the sidewalk, Shaw and Root had looked at one another and it had been the first time that Root had felt like she had really seen Sameen. It had been the first time that Root had thought that maybe Shaw didn’t just see her as _useful_. As more than just a coworker, maybe.

Shaw had nodded at her. Acknowledging the danger they were facing, and the inevitability of having to leave people behind. The inevitability of having to be on your own. But Root had hoped that someday, maybe they would find their way back to one another. Someday, maybe the world would be less scary and treacherous. And they would be safe.

And part of her wish had come true. They _had_ found their way back to one another.

But then, as always, they had to part. Again and again. Every time they were reunited it seemed that they were closer than before. And every time they were forced to separate, it hurt even more.

How had this happened?

When everything was over, there was supposed to be some light at the end of the tunnel. Some possibility of _good_.

But Root didn’t see any.

Where was the hope in the bottom of Pandora’s box? How could things just keep getting darker, endlessly black, with no sign that they would ever get better? How had Root ended up the only one left in New York, standing in the destroyed remnants of Harold’s old library? How could Harold be _gone_?

She put a hand on the dirty window, trying in vain to wipe it clear so she could look out at the New Yorkers walking on the street down below.

From behind her, there was a sudden commotion, and Bear growled and ran off down the hall towards the intruders. Root spun, pulling her gun from inside of her jacket and aiming after the dog.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Thanks, as always, for reading and being so darn nice! Hope you're all having a good holiday season! It's crazy that this time last year, I'd just started writing this madness.
> 
> Chapter 55 will be posted next Thursday, December 10th.

“Come on through here.” The voice was familiar. Bear growled menacingly. “Oh _crap_! No— Heel! Sit!”

It was Daniel Casey. Root hurried down the hallway and saw that Bear was lunging at him, trying to sink his teeth into Daniel’s arm.

“Bear,” she said. Her voice was weak, but Bear dropped back to the ground, although his hackles stayed raised.

Daniel wasn’t the only figure at the other end of the hallway. Root recognized Jason Greenfield and, between Jason and Daniel, Michael Evans. They each had one of Mike’s arms around their shoulders and were half-carrying him as he gingerly limped between them. Daniel looked up and saw Root standing in a patch of soft light filtering through the dirty windows.

“Thank god you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you guys were still actually using this place,” Daniel said, grinning as he shifted Mike’s arm over his shoulder. Bear returned to her side, still baring his teeth until she put a hand on his head.

“What…” Root had to clear her throat. It felt strange to speak. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said anything aloud. It had probably been to the dog, at least a day ago. “What happened?”

“Is your psycho bitch friend around?” Jason asked lightheartedly. When Root just looked at him, he elaborated. “Evans needs a doctor. She went to med school, right?”

“Shaw’s not here,” Root said softly. Jason looked frustrated.

“Ok, then the guy in the suit. He’s got military training, he can probably handle this,” Jason said dismissively.

“Reese isn’t here either,” Root said, swallowing hard.

“They found us. _Again_.” Daniel said, helping Mike sit down on the only chair in the room that hadn’t been tossed on its side or broken.

“How?” Root asked, concerned that perhaps Samaritan was able to see past their tricks.

“Let’s just say that Jason’s not allowed to pick our hiding spots anymore,” Daniel teased.

“Shut the hell up, Casey,” Greenfield sneered. “ _You_ try coming up with new places to hide.”

“Some guys with guns found where we’ve all been staying. Daizo took Tasha and Divya to a new safe house, but Mike fell and screwed up his ankle. We think it’s just a sprain but… better safe than sorry,” Daniel explained. Jason had paused, looking around the room and realizing that something was wrong. Still, Daniel was oblivious, picking up a second chair and putting it upright, motioning for Mike to put his foot on the seat. “Here, I think you’re supposed to keep it elevated.”

“Where are the others?” Jason asked, his voice tense. His wary tone caused Mike to look up fearfully. He knew by now that when someone asked a question like that, there was a big problem.

“They’re…” she started softly. She had to pause to shake her head, as if that might clear some of the fog that had descended on her. “Uh, they’re working. John, Lionel, and Sameen, I mean. It’s— It’s just me here.”

Even Daniel had stopped to look at her.

“Where’s Harold?” He asked quickly. Root’s eyes teared up and she shook her head.

“What?” Daniel said, taken aback by the unspoken news.

“Shit,” Jason cursed. “Don’t get too comfortable Evans, we’ve gotta go.”

He motioned for Mike to get back up.

“When are the others coming back?” Jason continued, trying to haul Mike back to his feet with a hand under his arm. Daniel put out a hand to stop Jason.

“I don’t know,” Root admitted. Daniel’s surprise grew, and Mike started to get up on his own, clearly afraid. Jason shook his head in frustrated disgust.

“So what? You’re just going to sit here and wait for some guys with guns to come and find you?” He asked. But Root wasn’t listening to Jason. Instead, she was looking at Mike, thinking about questions she’d been asking herself for the past few days, alone in the subway. When Mike realized that she was getting ready to ask him something, he stopped moving, steadying himself with a hand on Harold’s old desk.

“Do you think that we did the right thing?” She asked, barely more than a whisper. He had been there with her while they had planned all of the explosions. Had been there while she roped more and more people into the madness of a war between rival super-intelligences. Mike’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, I do,” he said finally, nodding his head.

“Why? How can you be sure?” She asked. Despair was close to consuming her once more, sucking her down into tears and sleep again.

“Because they were going to _kill_ me, _and_ Tasha. They wanted us dead because I questioned their plans for server rooms. And Divya’s mom. They killed her too. Doing experiments with new materials to find new ways to make their all-seeing eye more powerful. They didn’t do enough to keep her safe from the shit they were using, and she got cancer, and she _died_. They refused to take responsibility, and silenced everyone else who worked with her one way or another because they didn’t want the public to know what they were up to. And there are hundreds of other people whose names we don’t know and probably never will because they _completely vanished_. Erased from existence, like they meant nothing. Like they were irrelevant.”

“And _we_ fought fire with fire. We blew holes in every one of those buildings. What if there were people inside?” Root asked. She could feel panic rising in her again, her heart beginning to race.

“There weren’t,” Mike told her, exasperated.

“You don’t know that,” Root said quickly.

“Yeah, we do,” Jason interrupted. Root shook her head, confused, and watched his eyes narrow. “It’s been all over the news. They went inside of every one of those buildings in every country, and no one was hurt. Even in the places where it was early in the morning, every single person who should have been in every single one of those places got messages at the last minute with some reason that they shouldn’t go to work.”

“Even people who were visiting for meetings got cancelled on,” Daniel added. Root couldn’t believe it.

“The people who have gotten hurt and killed have been attacked _after_ the bombs went off,” Mike said. “The news and investigators and stuff, they’ve got all their theories about who it is that’s kidnapping and murdering these people but… it’s _them_. I know it is.”

Mike seemed very sure of himself as he continued. “They _know_ we’re involved, but they don’t know who we got to help us at the different places, so there’s been a squad that’s just… trying to get rid of _anyone_ who might have helped.”

“What?” Root asked, stunned.

“They didn’t just come after _us_ ,” Mike said. He couldn’t seem to believe that Root honestly didn’t know what had gone on. “There’s a team of them that we think is traveling around, trying to make sure that no one who helped gets away. Some people on the news think that _they’re the ones_ that set off the bombs and when they didn’t hit their targets they decided to go with uh… a more hands-on approach. And other people are saying they’re vigilantes seeking justice for the attacks, but…”

Root had gone numb. Mike leaned forward, trying to get her to look at him to make sure that she was listening. She met his gaze and he continued.

“But that blond woman that Shaw saved us from is one of them. She dyed her hair brown but it’s _her_. And… I saw some of the pictures of people who’ve been killed. The ones I knew… they were on _our side_.” Root felt very scared. Mike was so concerned, and his lips pursed as he tried to work out the best way to say what he wanted to next. Daniel saw that Mike was struggling and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Like he was tapping in, giving Mike a break.

“They’ve been showing the pictures on the news, of people who’ve disappeared or been found murdered… Mike thought that the ones that you didn’t directly meet with looked sort of familiar too. We looked into them. They’re just… secretaries, and security guards. People who issue visitors passes, things like that,” Daniel said. Root thought she knew what he was getting at and felt the blood drain further from her face. “We think they’re fighting blind. Those people weren’t on our side, but they weren’t _against_ us. They were just employees that happened to have the wrong job. Since Mike’s old bosses don’t know who’s working against them, they’re fighting _everyone_.”

Root wished that the Machine was with her, listening and giving her instructions. The Machine had done what She had set out to do, destroying the servers, but Samaritan was fighting back.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” She asked, the words bitter.

Daniel licked nervously at his lips.

“Will you help me look for some medical supplies?” Daniel asked Root. He could tell that Root was confused. “You probably know your way around here better than I do.”

She nodded.

“You guys should stay here. We’ll be back in a minute,” Daniel said, looking at Jason meaningfully.

Root followed Daniel out of Harold’s office and towards the room where Finch had once kept Root locked up.

Once they were out of earshot, standing beside a cart of medical supplies that they had always kept close by just in case, Daniel turned to her and picked up their conversation exactly where he’d left off.

“Samaritan’s people can’t keep this up. They’re afraid people are going to start talking. They’re not sure how much people know, and if enough of their targets were to come forward and say that all of these companies are working under a huge umbrella corporation that’s been murdering and manipulating its way into everyone’s lives, Samaritan’s done for. There are workers at these companies all over that have gone into police custody, and on the news they’re reporting that some people are going into witness protection programs,” Daniel said. His optimism was too much for Root.

“Samaritan has eyes on all levels of government. From local police departments up to the White House. Anyone who seeks protection from the government is _willingly_ walking straight into the arms of the same people who want them dead,” Root said. She couldn’t keep the pitch of her voice from creeping up the scale as she spoke, her anxiety high.

“Sure. But if it’s being reported on the news that people are seeking asylum, Samaritan _can’t_ keep making them vanish or turn up dead. Controlling the government is only worth anything as long as the people you’re leading have faith in you,” Daniel said. Root paused, wondering if he might have a point. “If it looks like these people are being snatched out from under the noses of the people whose job it is to protect them, the public will start doubting.”

Root was shaking her head before he’d finished.

“Then they’ll call all of their victims terrorists. Spies. They’ll lie and manipulate. You know they will. They always have,” she said.

“But these ‘terrorists’ are not some vague ‘other’ from overseas, where people can point to a specific race or a different income tier or religion,” he said. “These are your _neighbors_. You go to their cook-outs. They borrow sugar from you. Your kids and their kids climb the fences between your yards to play after school. Why would your neighbors become terrorists?”

Root didn’t answer.

“They wouldn’t. Not unless there was something that really was worth fighting for,” he said. She could see his eyes flitting between hers.

“And besides,” Daniel continued. “Calling all of the men and women they’re after terrorists would be admitting that _over a hundred terrorists_ had managed to trick them. If that many people were caught after being able to work together from across the country— across the _globe_ — and set off _that many_ explosives, who’s to say there aren’t _hundreds_ more. They don’t want to seem that weak.”

Daniel was right. He smiled at her. It was a grim smile, but it wasn’t hopeless.

“As long as their artificial intelligence isn’t working, they’re going to have to use manpower to try to figure out who was _actually_ involved. And with all of the security feeds scrubbed, and none of the employees fully in-the-know about either side of this fight, that’s going to be difficult if not impossible,” Daniel pointed out. “The Machine has been in contact with all employees that are being looked into, the ones working with us and the ones that were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Every one of them is being told to get the government to provide protection. Samaritan is going to have to help the same people that it’s trying to get rid of.”

Root’s eyes were glued to his feet. They had thought this through. Daniel, Jason, and Daizo had clearly discussed it all and they were right.

“But… What if the Machine isn’t any better than Samaritan?” Root asked quietly, finally looking up at him. He was taken aback by the question. “What if they’re not as different as we thought?”

“The Machine and Samaritan aren’t the same. The Machine _cares_. Why else would it plan any of this? And make sure that we’re safe?” Daniel asked. Root didn’t answer.

“It’s like I said before: Samaritan’s people are fighting, but with their system gone, they’re fighting _blind_. They’re striking at everyone because they don’t know where to aim,” Daniel continued. “The Machine would never do that. It’s too dangerous.”

“She had us blow up buildings all over the world,” Root said, frustrated. “How can you say She wouldn’t fight the way that they’re fighting?”

“I told you, the Machine made sure no one was there,” Daniel said. Then, when Root stayed quiet, considering all that he’d said, he nodded. “Everyone matters. The Machine knows that.”

Root looked at the medical cart and thought about all of this. 

“Hey Casey, come on, man,” Jason’s voice made its way to them through the empty library. “We should keep moving.”

“Alright,” Daniel called back. He grabbed some of the bandages and a few instruments, taking his time. Root could tell he was watching her.

“You should come with us,” he told her. “It’s no good, sitting here hoping that they come back.”

“They _will_ ,” Root said. But she didn’t know that. And Daniel seemed to be aware.

“Okay,” he replied gently. “If you change your mind, you know how to find us.”

“Actually,” Root told him, feeling the shakiness of her sadness rising again, “She’s not talking to me.”

“She’s not…” It took him a moment to absorb this news. “But— then how did you know that we were coming here?”

“I didn’t. I just… the dog needed to walk, and I knew I should get out of our safe house,” she explained. “Just for a little while.”

“Then… then the Machine must’ve known you were here. It must’ve wanted us to find you and get you to come with us. Why else would it tell us to come here?” Daniel asked.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “It’s not safe here. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

They stood in silence, Daniel looking at her like he hoped she might say something more.

“I wish you’d come. So you weren’t alone,” he said. “You look tired.”

“No, I— I want to stay. I want to be here when they get back,” Root said. She tried to smile lightheartedly. “Besides, I’m not alone. I’ve got the dog.”

Daniel nodded slowly.

“I understand,” he told her. Then he sighed deeply. “So I guess this is goodbye then. For now, anyway.”

Root smiled, but it was weak. She hated that he was looking at her with so much pity, and she wished that she could be sure that someday, they’d see one another again. It was strange, knowing that she had made friends with Daniel, Jason, and Daizo. It was easy to forget when things got hectic and they didn’t see one another for a stretch, but as soon as they were together, at least one of them would greet her warmly.

“I guess so,” she said.

——————————

It had been four days since they had arrived in London, and there was no word on Greer’s whereabouts. Shaw was tired of being directed to blown-out offices around London where tech monkeys tried to salvage what they could from the burnt remains of Samaritan’s bases there. In the hellish bunker that the Machine had provided for them, Shaw, Reese, and Fusco stayed mostly silent. None of them could stand the thought of not being available, just in case something did happen. So they stayed sullen and angry, cleaning and re-cleaning their weapons.

That fourth evening, as they returned to the office building where they had been spending their nights, Shaw dropped her weapons on the conference table, shook her coat off from over the cast on her broken hand, and sat down heavily in one of the chairs.

“You can’t do that,” Reese growled at her. She didn’t bother looking up at him. Instead, she focused on gingerly rubbing at her arm above the top of her cast. Her hand was aching but she was trying not to take too many of the pain meds. They made her just a little slower than usual, and in this situation, that slight delay in response could be the difference between life and death. “Shaw, are you listening to me?”

“What?” she snapped, glaring up at him. He shook his head at her in disgust, eyes rolling to look at the ceiling.

“You have to tell us what the plan is, and let us go in first,” he said.

Shaw rolled her eyes right back, snorting derisively.

“ _Sorry_ , I’m not letting you have all the fun,” she told him, dragging a semi-automatic gun into her lap and struggling to take it apart to start cleaning it. With one hand broken, it was almost impossible to disengage the mechanism.

“Shaw,” he warned right as she finally managed to detach a piece of the gun, slapping it down on the table.

“What?” she repeated, louder this time, her anger getting the better of her.

“Your hand is broken. You have to let us help,” Reese said. Shaw huffed. Had she, in fact, burst in through the door of their last hit without telling the others the plan? Yes. Because the Machine hadn’t given her anything more than a location and that they should be prepared to defend themselves. Had she almost dropped the gun she was carrying in juggling it to open the door? Yes. Her hand encased in the cast was virtually useless, but she didn’t want to let the other two take the lead. She wanted to be the first in to threaten and shoot anyone who didn’t do what they were told.

At any rate, the latest break-in turned out to be yet another attempt to stop everyone from working on fixing Samaritan, getting everyone to agree to receive _more_ money from these strange newcomers than they had been promised by Samaritan, and whisk them off to safety from Samaritan’s gunmen.

No one had taken them up on their offer as of yet, of course, choosing instead to commit suicide, just like Greer had told them to. And Shaw could tell that it was beginning to weigh on Fusco. Even Reese had a harrowed look of desperation on his face when they had exited the building. But it honestly just made Shaw mad, and more inclined to bust open the next door they were sent to.

Plus, her assessment that today’s raid had been an attempt to stop the workers wasn’t _quite_ accurate. That part of the day had occurred in the room beyond the large entry hall where Shaw and the other two had fought their way through a squadron of armed thugs. The hired guns were armed and dangerous, and this was what Reese was taking issue with. Shaw had gotten alarmingly close to getting shot, but Reese had seen it coming from over her shoulder and shoved her so hard that she ended up on her hands and knees on the ground, scrambling to keep her gun pointing the right direction as she growled through the pain of landing on her broken wrist . And the bullet that she had narrowly avoided would not have just clipped her. She’d have been hit in center mass.

“I’m fine, John,” Shaw grumbled at him.

“No. You’re not,” he said. Fusco shook his head in frustration at the pair of them, making his way into the separate space where there were cardboard boxes filled with folders of information about clients and orders for supplies.

“Why don’t you examine your own head instead of trying to boss me around,” she told him, dismissing him and flipping the gun in her lap to detach another piece. He stood over her, waiting for her to look up at him, but she wouldn’t.

“You can’t keep being reckless. You’re going to get hurt,” he said softly. “And I can’t let that happen.”

Shaw stopped what she was doing, her lip curling with rage.

“I’m not a damsel in distress, and you’re not my white knight. So _stop acting like one_ ,” she told him.

“You need to stop acting like a toddler having a temper tantrum,” he retorted sternly. “We can’t afford to lose anyone else. We were barely saving the numbers as it was, before all of this happened.”

Shaw felt her blood run hot at the sweeping generalization of ‘all of this’. She wondered what that entailed in his mind. Harold getting shot? Root handcuffing her? The explosions?

“When we get back—”

She laughed bitterly, cutting him off, and he stared at her.

“When we _get back_?” she snarled. “What the hell makes you think we’re going to make it back?”

“Maybe _you_ won’t, the way you keep running into trouble head first, but I don’t plan on dying here,” he said, his voice low with anger.

“Why? Why would you even wanna go back there?” Shaw asked. Their rage was evenly matched when his nose wrinkled upwards and he yanked the gun from her hands, tossing it to the far end of the table. She stood up aggressively, his chin higher than the crown of her head.

“Because there are still numbers to save,” he said, leaning into her space like it was a threat. Then he stepped back, shaking his head. His voice got lower, impossibly. “They’re never going to stop coming.”

“They can sort their stupid shit out for themselves. _I don’t care_ ,” Shaw told him, setting her jaw.

“You _should_ ,” he murmured sadly. His lips pursed in disgust. He was disappointed. Defeated. “If you don’t, then Harold spent all that time with us for nothing.”

Shaw saw red.

She barely remembered throwing a punch at John. Had no recollection of how one of the chairs ended up knocked over, and a lamp tumbled from a desk and broke on the floor.

“Hey! _Hey! Hey!_ ” Fusco intervened, helping Reese push Shaw off of him. He must have heard the commotion and raced back in. “What the _hell_? What’s wrong with you two?”

Reese was gently feeling his jaw bone. His fingers were hesitant in their exploration of the joint, and Shaw could see that he was using his tongue to check inside of his mouth. There was no blood, but he still tested his jaw, moving it around cautiously.

Sam watched him, and felt very little remorse. She was not unlike a lion, ready to fight him until one of them _had_ to back down.

When Reese looked at Shaw, she could see that he was mad, but also satisfied. He’d gotten what he wanted. That just made Shaw angrier, itching to get in another hit.

But Fusco was holding up a hand towards her like a referee in a boxing match, and as her adrenaline slowly subsided, Sameen realized that John hadn’t fought back.

“Don’t tell me. Your moral compass won’t let you hit a girl?” Shaw taunted. John blinked slowly. Her voice dripped with sarcasm when she continued. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“I wouldn’t hit _you_ ,” he said quietly. She grunted a derisive laugh.

“And you think _I’m_ the reckless one,” she sneered. John rolled his eyes at her implication that she was dangerous, and she shifted her weight, eager to show him just how wrong he was.

“Shut up, will you?” Lionel told her, then looked at Reese. “Both of you. Calm down.”

And then the Machine spoke in Shaw’s ear, and she turned to look at the window like that would somehow help her understand the instructions.

Greer had tried to make a move. Had tried to do something to restart Samaritan’s programming. And the virus that Harold had implanted in the rival AI’s system had worked. His final act was the only reason that they were able to immediately pinpoint Greer’s location.

Shaw’s eyes snapped back to John’s and she reached for the gun. Fusco reached out to stop her, alarmed.

“The Machine found Greer,” she said. Reese was reloading his weapons before Lionel had absorbed what it was that Shaw had said.

“Put this on your gun,” John grumbled at her, tossing her a strap to put her firearm around her shoulders. She gave him a dirty look, but did as he asked while they waited for Lionel.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's late! The next one goes up on Wednesday, December 16th, and I fully intend to get it up on time.
> 
> Thanks for reading, everybody!

Shaw led the way across the city in a hurry, speeding through London traffic towards the address that the Machine had given her.

When they came to a stop, they found themselves looking up at a row house in Chelsea. It was an old building, and Shaw knew that the apartment was an expensive one, but there were no guards visible outside.

This wasn’t much of a surprise. If it looked like the place was being protected, the Machine would’ve been able to spot Greer much quicker. In the entry hall of the building, there was only one man. A man whose gun had not been fully drawn before Lionel had knocked him unconscious.

“Stay here. Watch for anyone headed this way,” Shaw said, conveying the Machine’s instructions to the detective, who nodded. He propped the man up in the entryway and took up the post that the guard had been in charge of.

Reese and Shaw made their way up the marble staircase silently.

In the first room at the top of the stairs, they found two people guarding a door. A mammoth of a man and a woman with dark brown hair. The woman was slumped in a chair, and Shaw wasn’t sure if she was even alive.

Reese shot the man in the knee cap before he’d noticed that Reese and Shaw were upon him, and he dropped with a yelp.

The woman lurched awake and Sameen recognized that it was Martine. She’d dyed her hair, but it was unmistakably her. When she saw that it was Shaw and Reese that had just come up the stairs, she looked startled and began to raise her gun.

But she’d been caught off guard. And that alone was a sign that Samaritan had been more than simply slowed down by whatever it was that Finch had done. The AI wasn’t able to see them coming, it seemed.

The tables had been turned. Samaritan was blind, and Sameen had the Machine in her ear. That meant that despite her broken thumb, she had the upper hand.

Martine started to stand.

Shaw crossed the room without hesitation, letting go of her gun so that it hung from the strap over her shoulder, disarming Martine by sheer force of will and slamming her into the wall.

Reese trailed behind Shaw, brushing her aside to zip tie the once-blond’s hands and tape her mouth shut. Shaw could see that Martine was surprised that she hadn’t been shot yet. She also looked exhausted. It appeared that Greer hadn’t given her a chance to rest since the explosions had occurred, and Shaw knew that that couldn’t be too far off. The Machine had kept Sameen updated on the people that Martine and her team had killed and injured. Their body count was getting higher every day until the previous morning, when they’d suddenly disappeared off of the Machine’s map of the United States and hadn’t turned up again. Now, Shaw knew why. Martine had disappeared from the US because she’d been on her way _here_.

Slowly, it dawned on Martine that Reese and Shaw weren’t going to leave her behind. She looked down and saw that her partner was on the floor and gave Shaw a look so full of hatred that Sameen almost felt bad. She wondered if the giant man was Martine’s friend. Not just some big lug hired to keep watch for Greer, but someone that Martine cared about.

Reese hauled Martine to her feet and pushed her along in front of them, through the door that she had been guarding.

John Greer was not in his usual suit when they found him inside of the next room. The top button of his shirt was undone, the coat and tie missing altogether.

“I thought you all might turn up sooner or later. Seeing as you’ve already destroyed Samaritan’s servers,” Greer said as he shut the book in his lap and removed his reading glasses. “I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed that Ms Groves didn’t see fit to attend. Now that she’s not being brain-washed by Mr. Finch, I’d rather hoped I’d finally be able to persuade her to see the merits of working together.”

He set aside the book and glasses, hardly sparing Martine a look.

“But that’s not what you came for, is it?” Greer asked, staying seated in his wing-back chair by the fireplace. “So. How can I help you?”

“You know why we’re here,” Reese growled. He pushed Martine to her knees so that she was facing Greer, her dark eyes looking up at her boss angrily. Greer didn’t even glance her direction. He just smiled up at them, and the firelight cast dark shadows where the wrinkles on his face were, making him look more menacing.

“You see, that’s your Machine’s biggest flaw,” Greer said lightheartedly. “It would never tell you to kill anyone, regardless of—”

“Oh, I’m going to kill her,” Shaw warned him, cutting him off and pointing her gun at the back of Martine’s head, who was breathing hard but unable to speak because of the tape. Shaw’s upper lip pulled into a violent sneer at the old man. “And then I’m going to kill you.”

“Not if I kill him first,” Reese said threateningly, his gun already raising to point directly at the center of Greer’s forehead.

“Even if you _were_ Samaritan— at this point, not quite as big an ‘if’ as I’d like— there will always be someone coming for you. And your Machine.”

“D’you ever think about how many people’s lives you’ve ruined?” Shaw asked. Greer continued to smile.

“Do you?” He retorted, jovial. Shaw set her jaw.

“You’re right. I never really cared much about being a good person. Until I met Finch,” Shaw said. She shook her head, eyes narrowed. “Now I actually _avoid_ killing people. And I regret it when I do.”

Greer was still looking at her like she was endlessly amusing.

“Most of the time,” she finished her thought before continuing darkly. “But this? I’m not going to regret this.”

The Machine interrupted her, giving Shaw a combination through her ear piece, then a single word. “Mirror.”

Shaw looked around and caught sight of her reflection.

“Do you think that watching Martine die will cause me some last sadness before it’s my turn? Do you want me to hurt as you hurt?” he asked. He was still smiling, his blue eyes cold.

“You don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do,” Greer said, unconcerned. He looked directly at Sameen. “ _You_ of all people should understand how much better it is to be emotionally removed from your coworkers.”

Shaw pulled the trigger.

Martine dropped forward at Greer’s feet with a muted thud, falling directly onto her face, a bullet hole in the back of her skull.

Slowly, as if it bored him to do so, Greer looked down at her body. Then he looked back up at Sameen, who had taken a threatening step towards him over Martine, her gun now raised like Reese’s, pointed just above Greer’s eyes. Then she lowered it to aim at the elderly man’s chest.

“Your turn,” Shaw snarled. Then, to Reese, “Don’t shoot him in the head. I want him to suffer.”

Reese turned his head slightly to look over at her, and she knew that he wasn’t on board.

“I want this piece of crap to feel what _he_ felt.” She found that she couldn’t say Harold’s name. And she didn’t need to: Reese understood. She watched in her peripheral vision as Reese’s gun lowered to Greer’s chest. Pointing with Shaw’s at the exact spot where Finch had been shot.

“It seems you aren’t the virtuous hero that poor, dead Harold Finch had hoped.” As soon as Reese heard the teasing tone with which Greer said Finch’s name, he shot him.

Greer’s body lurched, and John and Sameen watched as blood began to flow from the wound in his chest.

Then he started to struggle for air, sputtering and coughing. He weakly lifted one hand to his lips, drawing it away to see the blood on his finger tips.

“You’re drowning,” Shaw told him darkly. “From the inside out.”

Greer tried to breath but couldn’t.

“John shot you in the lung,” Shaw explained. “It’s filling up with blood, and you’re going to choke and _suffocate_ on it.”

Reese lowered his gun, looking down at the old man jerking in his arm chair. Greer’s eyes watered as he tried to cough, wheezing and bleeding. Those ice-blue eyes shifted between the pair of them, and when they landed on Reese, Finch’s righthand man frowned.

“This is how Harold died,” John said quietly. “Well, almost.”

He crouched so that he was closer to Greer’s face, Martine’s head beside the toe of his right shoe.

“Do you know what the difference is?” John asked. Greer coughed, blood spattering his chin, but he couldn’t speak. “The _difference_ is that Harold was surrounded by people that cared about him.”

Shaw felt her stomach churn as if it were tied into knots. Reese paused.

“But you?” He shook his head, a tight-lipped smile of pity on his face.

“No one cares about you,” Reese continued. “And you’re dying alone.”

Greer continued to struggle for air as Reese stood up.

Shaw forced herself to look away from the struggling man, crossing to the mirror and feeling its edge for a moment before figuring out how to unlatch it and swing it out from the wall, revealing a safe door. She started to spin the dial, and entered the Machine’s combination.

When the safe was open, Shaw looked inside. There was only a small external hard drive. Unremarkable. She reached in, picked up the little black rectangle, and pulled it out, turning to Reese and Greer.

The old man’s eyes were on her, and for the first time, Shaw recognized a flash of panic in him.

“Is that—?” Reese stopped when Shaw nodded. Greer struggled to inhale, but it was much weaker than before. It wouldn’t be long now.

“You wanna do the honors?” she asked Reese, holding the little drive out for him to take. He accepted it, dropped it on the floor beside Martine, and stepped heavily with the hard heel of his shoe. It crunched and cracked under the pressure, and when Reese picked up his foot, Shaw could see that the thing had broken apart.

Greer had gone quiet and still. His eyes were glassy, fixed on the mix of plastic and bits of metal that Reese had demolished.

——————————

It had been almost six days, and Root was still alone. She wondered the same thing she had been wondering every day: if Shaw would ever come back, even if she did manage to survive.

After Bear had taken her to the old library, Root had returned to the subway and had only left for short walks with the dog. She was always wary when they went outside, but he stayed glued to her side. The only time he wasn’t hovering around her knees was when she shut him out of the bathroom to clean herself up, and when she opened the door he was guarding the other side, sniffing at her hands and circling around her like he was checking to make sure that nothing had happened while she had been gone.

She only knew that it had been six days because she had finally used the computer, and was catching up on the news, seeing the destruction reported from all sides. News anchors and analysts repeating the same lines: no motive has been determined as of yet, still unsure as to who the attackers really are, etcetera. Many people had been taken into custody. Others had been killed. Found executed in their homes. Or they simply vanished. Stopped showing up to work, left their possessions behind, and disappeared without a trace. Root knew that most of the latter group had been whisked away to be interrogated by Samaritan. She asked the Machine where they were being taken, but She wouldn’t answer. Root hoped that the lack of reply didn’t mean that She had been disintegrated by Samaritan.

The last twenty four hours had been remarkably quiet. The journalists were reporting the same facts, repeating their stories from previous days without much to add. But Root didn’t trust the quiet.

Bear licked at his food bowl, the metal rattling against the ground. Root looked back at him and saw that it was empty. He’d finished off the bag of food.

They would have to go out and get more.

Root knew that the fresh air could only do her good, but the thought of going out on the streets when Samaritan was up there, probably waiting for her to appear, was scary. It didn’t help that when she was out on the sidewalks of New York City, she couldn’t help but think that all of the people around were oblivious to the war between gods that was happening all around them. They didn’t know that the Machine and Harold had ever been protecting them, much less that they were exceedingly vulnerable without them.

But she didn’t have a choice. Bear needed to eat, and that meant that they would have to venture out into the world.

She stood up, knowing it was better to just get it over with. Plus, it would be getting dark soon, and she didn’t need the added worry of agents lurking in the shadows.

Once she’d started to move, she admitted to herself that at any rate, staying in the subway station wasn’t helping her mood. She wasn’t just staying in bed all day anymore, but she still felt fragile. At any moment, tears could spill from her again. Without anyone else around, it was easy to wallow in her grief, letting it consume her.

She closed the news website on which she’d been watching updates.

Bear growled at her feet, vibrations deep in his throat, and she looked down at him, confused. He wasn’t looking at her. He was slinking past her, suddenly more soldier than pet, towards the door of the subway car.

Root stood up and looked towards the locker, but didn’t have time to go and get a gun.

“You going somewhere?” The deep voice was low and dark.

——————————

“I thought I would feel better once Greer was dead.”

Shaw looked up at the sound of Reese’s deep voice, a quiet rumble that came as a surprise. They had been sitting in silence for the better part of an hour, nursing the bottle of scotch on the table between them. The return from Greer’s apartment had been quiet, and none of them had spoken. There wasn’t much to say, it seemed.

As they drank, Shaw had slowly slouched forward, elbows on her knees, looking down into the glass between her fingers— her broken hand aching inside of the black cast. She saw that Reese was slumped forward in his chair as well, swirling his nearly empty glass of caramel liquid.

Shaw didn’t reply. She knew what he meant, but she had already known that she wouldn’t feel better. Revenge was necessary in her mind, but it didn’t change the loss. She had experienced the same thing when Cole had been killed.

She had felt normal with Cole. Like the pair of them were the perfect yin and yang. Balancing strengths and weaknesses. Then suddenly he was gone, leaving Shaw enraged. And killing Wilson had not helped.

Shaw reached for the bottle and poured herself another drink.

No, what had helped, in the end, was going after Root. Working with Reese to help him find Finch. And Harold Finch had helped by offering her a job that she eventually accepted. All of it— life with Harold, John, Joss, Lionel, and Root (yes, even Root, who had tricked her)— had not just given her an answer to Cole’s suspicions that there was something bigger going on than the ISA’s hunt for terrorists. She had finally begun to feel normal again. They were more than just coworkers. As much as she hated all of the teasing that Harold was a dad to herself and John, it wasn’t that far off-mark. They _were_ a family in their own way.

Shaw’s heart ached. The feeling was unwelcome and unfamiliar.

She emptied her glass again in a large gulp, her insides churning. Feeling Reese’s eyes on her, she glanced his direction. He took a deep breath and sighed, resigned to the fact that she had nothing to say.

“This time tomorrow we’ll be home,” he said as he looked away again at the smooth grey wall of their safe-house— little more than an above-ground bunker where they could hide away.

“Where’s that?” Shaw asked, bitter and sarcastic. He looked back over at her and she had to avert her eyes because he seemed to know exactly how she felt.

She wondered if Root had stayed in New York in the subway station, or if she would be long gone once the rest of their team returned.

The thought of Root disappearing made the ache in Shaw worse. What she longed for, more than the scotch that she was currently pouring into her glass, more than ten clones of Greer to empty a full arsenal of weaponry into, was Root.

She almost thought that folding herself into Root would bring her some peace.

But that was idiotic, of course.

She downed half of her glass, pressing her eyes shut, and welcomed the bristling static of inebriation. Her head swam with the sensation that the room was drifting slightly, rocking away from her.

Maybe it wasn’t completely idiotic. Maybe John was right. Maybe if Root was still in Harold’s hideout when she got back, that would be ‘home’. Whatever that meant.

Maybe all that ‘home’ was, really, was the place you wanted to curl up at the end of the day. If that was all it took, then Root more than qualified. With this vaguely frightening thought, Shaw took a steadying breath and opened her eyes, finishing her scotch.

Thinking back to leaving Root in the subway station, she felt the need to pour herself another glass, but refrained. They’d already had too much, the large bottle far too close to empty, and she felt over-heated.

She didn’t really understand how she could be so fucking furious with Root, so angry that she wanted to avoid ever seeing her again, and still anxiously worrying about Root’s safety, hoping that she would be able to make it back to New York and Harold’s subway station.

——————————

The flight back to New York was long, made to feel longer by the fact that Shaw had a mild hangover upon waking. They had entered the fifth day since they’d left Root behind in the station.

Fusco had shut them out, leaning back in his seat with his mouth hanging open, sleeping soundly for most of the flight. Reese, on the other hand, had consumed at least four miniature bottles of vodka from the beverage cart since boarding the plane, and she was pretty sure he’d finished the bottle the previous night before he laid down on the floor on the other side of the conference table.

Lionel had steered clear of them after they killed Greer. Shaw was pretty sure he didn’t want to be around the alcohol that they’d stopped to buy. It would have been too tempting to join in the misery.

Shaw watched as John struggled to keep the thin veil of alcohol pulled snug around him. Just as she wondered if she should stop him, he threw out the little plastic bottles he’d finished and leaned his forehead against the plane’s wall.

Now that she was sober and they were flying back west, the sun too bright and warm as it shone through the windows, Sameen felt extremely unsure about whether she’d be heading to the subway or off to god knew where. Maybe she’d head up to Boston for a while. Or Chicago, although the bitter winters were unappealing.

With her hand hurting, she wanted to take a pain pill, but she’d already taken one when they boarded, and she didn’t want to cloud her judgement before they got back stateside. That was the big reason that she had considered stopping Reese from getting full-blown drunk: it wasn’t unreasonable to think that there might be some work to be done when they landed, and the last thing that they needed was for the pair of them to be drugged and drunk entering a firefight.

By the time that they landed, he’d sobered up. They went with Fusco to make sure that his apartment was clear before he went to see his son at his ex-wife’s, and once he had closed the door, Sameen and John turned and walked together along the sidewalk. She could feel his eyes on her.

The Machine spoke into her ear.

“We’re supposed to make sure your apartment is clear,” Shaw told him. He nodded and led the way.

At his place, there was hardly any evidence that anyone even lived there, much less any evidence that anyone had broken in.

“I could use a drink,” he said, running a hand over his hair. There was more silver in it than Shaw remembered, and she couldn’t tell if the comment was a joke or not. He smiled weakly and she decided that it had been.

As she was getting ready to leave, there was a knock on the door and she spun towards it, raising a gun as Reese looked out the peephole. He motioned for her to lower her weapon, then opened the door. There was an older woman outside holding a vase of flowers.

“Hello, my name is Edith. I live next door?” the woman said as if it were a question. She spoke slowly and Shaw put her gun down behind the arm of the couch. “I’m so sorry to bother you; are you John?”

John nodded, smiling sullenly. There was the faintest hint of a southern accent in her sloth-like words.

“These were delivered while you were gone. I’ve been keeping an ear out for you to come back so I could make sure that you got them,” she held out the vase for him to take it from her hands. Reese was perplexed by the news that the flowers were his, but accepted them. “I couldn’t help but notice the card— my heart goes out to you.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a raspy whisper.

“You know, if there’s anything you need, I would be so happy to help.” The older woman was trying to get invited inside. Shaw wondered if she lived alone. There was no sign of a wedding ring on her hand, and she seemed eager to interact with other people.

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Reese told her. Despite the look on her face like she was getting ready to say something else, John closed the door.

“Alright, buh bye,” she said right as the latch caught.

Once the old woman had left, he peeked into the flower arrangement for a card. He found it and pulled the little notecard from the plastic fork sticking out of the arrangement.

“Who are they from?” Shaw asked. Reese shrugged and shook his head.

“Doesn’t say,” he told her, holding the little business card-sized paper out between his middle and pointer finger for her to take.

All that it said was ‘With Deepest Sympathy’ in an elaborate, cursive typeface. She flipped it over, but the opposite side only had one word, elegantly written by hand: ‘John’.

He put the vase on the coffee table and sat down, sinking into the sofa.

“Zoe?” Shaw asked.

“I guess,” John said, shrugging. Shaw dropped the card beside the vase and looked down at him.

“You gonna go to the subway station?” Reese asked. Shaw pursed her lips. She hadn’t decided yet.

She didn’t know what to do with herself. Part of her wanted to leave New York City altogether. To disappear into the billions of people that lived on the planet and become just another irrelevant person. She didn’t know if she’d be able to stand seeing Root again. Not after what she’d done. Or, possibly worse, if she’d be able to take it if she went back to the subway and Root was gone. It was easier to leave than to face either one of those possibilities.

She’d need a purpose, of course. Without something that she could work towards, she would never be content. Maybe she’d find another job with some smash-and-grab thieves. Or better yet, maybe she’d look for Tomas. He would be glad to have her, and he would be so easy to get on with. Plus, there would always be a new challenge for them to face. Something bigger and more expensive to steal.

“Guess we should make sure no one found that place,” he continued, watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. Shaw still didn’t reply. She didn’t know how to tell him that she was thinking about running off.

“Don’t leave,” he said softly. She looked directly at him, annoyed and surprised that he’d guessed what she was thinking.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said. Her words were dark. He winced, shaking his head.

“I know. But… I’d miss you,” he said. “ _She’d_ miss you.”

“I don’t give a shit about her,” Shaw said quickly. It was a lie, and they both knew it. “She _handcuffed_ me, John.” 

“You don’t usually have trouble escaping cuffs,” Reese teased. “Or so you’ve bragged.” 

“Well I’m not usually naked,” she snapped. His eyebrows raised and she realized just a moment too late that she had said too much. She watched his eyes find the black cast on her wrist and had to look away from his confused expression. He was trying to work out what had happened. 

“She handcuffed me, tried to _drug me_ , and then she ran off,” Shaw said, gesturing widely with her good hand. “She _knew_ that you guys were all going straight into the belly of the beast, and she _sidelined_ me. And then— _the Machine_ asked me to help.” 

“She was trying to protect you,” John said. He was so calm. So level-headed, like it was the most understandable thing in the world that Root had chosen to do what she did. 

“She’s lucky I showed up when I did. I may have let Harold get shot but you _all_ would be dead if it weren’t for me.” 

“You didn’t let Harold get shot. _I_ was supposed to be protecting him. Always,” John told her. She realized that he was serious. He too blamed himself for Harold’s death. They looked at one another steadily. 

“What about going to your old place?” John suggested. Shaw remembered how he’d said the place looked the last time he’d been there. Completely wrecked. She hadn’t been back to the old spartan apartment since before she and Martine had tried to shoot one another at the makeup counter. He seemed to realize his mistake. 

“Or you can stay here,” John said. “If you want.” 

Shaw shook her head. She was trying to figure out what exactly she wanted him to tell Root to explain why Shaw wasn’t there if the taller woman was still in the station. But her thoughts were interrupted when he spoke again. 

“Even if you don’t need her,” he said, frowning. “She needs you.” 

Her lip curled in annoyance. That wasn’t fair. 

“She was willing to risk everything to keep you safe,” he continued. He was right about that, but that didn’t mean that Shaw was obligated to go back to see her. Or that Root _needed_ her. “You know how much Harold meant to her. You should make sure she’s alright.” 

Shaw’s throat tightened. She wanted to yell at him. _What if Root_ isn’t _alright? What if someone came while we were gone, and Root got snatched and kidnapped._

_Or worse… what if Root was_ — Sameen couldn’t stand the thought of it. Couldn’t even face that word. 

Reese seemed to understand her silence. He stood up from the sofa. 

“Come on,” he said tiredly. Shaw’s brow furrowed, confused. 

“We at least need to make sure that we take care of Harold’s things,” he continued, reloading his gun and waiting for Shaw to react. 

She finally nodded, and he gave her a tight smile. 

They made their way to the subway station in silence. The closer that they got, the more convinced Shaw was that she would never be able to get over her anger at Root— if the woman was even still there. And if Root wasn’t… well, then there was no reason for Shaw to stay anyway. 

She trailed behind John as they walked down the steps to the entrance of the station. She heard Bear growl as they approached the metro car. 

Inside of the old subway carriage, Shaw caught a glimpse of long brown hair falling in loose waves around shoulders. 

“You going somewhere?” John asked. His voice was deep. A rumble. Shaw knew he didn’t _love_ the position he was being put in. 

The woman in the subway turned in surprise, her profile coming into view. Smooth skin and a long, narrow nose. 

Root. 

As soon as Shaw saw that face, she forgot for a moment about how angry she was. Any thought she’d had of leaving vanished, and Sameen’s heart caught in her throat. Relief flooded her. Root was still there. 

She didn’t look good, though. Her skin was ghostly pale, with circles under her eyes so pronounced it looked as if she’d been bruised. 

Bear leapt up at Sameen. She’d somehow not even noticed that he was there. 

Once she’d absorbed the fact that Root was still there and very much alive, Shaw’s anger crept up on her again. Not as fully-formed as it had been before, but still lurking there, percolating under the surface. And now that she saw that Root hadn’t been killed, it felt alright for Shaw to be mad. 

She could leave if she wanted to, now that she’d seen that Root was okay. And she had every right to. 

As Root approached them, taking quick, nervous steps, Shaw found it hard to look her in the eye. It was easier to keep her at arm’s length. It was easier to keep her eyes on the ground and keep a firm grip on her fury than it was to look into those tear-filled brown eyes. 


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing! Thank you all so much for reading! Chapter 57 _should_ be posted on Monday, the 21st.
> 
> And this chapter is late! Of course! Holiday time is the busiest time and I'm a fool for trying to get this story finished during it, especially since I'm going to be traveling again for part of it. What a dummy. Anybody else feel like they're running around like a chicken with its head cut off? Yeah?! Group high five!
> 
> Enjoy!

“You going somewhere?” The deep voice was low and dark.

Root practically leapt out of her skin. Bear immediately jumped and tore away from her, going to circle around the knees of the man who had spoken, then darting to leap up at the woman behind him, almost knocking her over.

Root couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Reese and Shaw. Her heart jumped into her throat and she felt like she might cry again. For what felt like the hundredth time in the past week. She walked towards them.

There was no sign of Lionel.

“Fusco—” Root began, her heart sinking, her eyes on the Persian woman.

“Wanted to see his kid,” John explained when Shaw stayed silent. Root exhaled with relief and nodded. Bear had returned to her side, circling her knees and sitting down on her feet.

Reese brushed past her with a tight, morose smile to go to the locker inside of the subway car, telling Bear to follow him. Root watched the dog look to Shaw, who pointed with her wounded hand after Reese. As soon as he saw the signal from Sameen, Bear leapt after John, tail wagging.

This left Root and Shaw standing facing one another, Shaw’s eyes on Root’s feet. Root used the fact that Shaw was avoiding eye contact to take in the black cast enveloping the darker woman’s left wrist, totally encasing her thumb and forearm.

“How’s your hand?” Root asked, her voice quiet. Shaw looked at the cast, gesturing and shrugging.

“I’ve had worse,” she replied noncommittally, her words tinged with anger.

Root heard the locker shut and Reese passed quietly, Bear on a leash at his heels. John looked exhausted and defeated as he paused. He and Shaw made eye contact and nodded to one another. Sameen looked right back at the ground, and Root watched John’s eyes narrow at the Persian woman, trying to suss out what she was thinking, perhaps.

“I guess… we’ll be in touch,” he mumbled, looking at Root sympathetically. Then he slowly shuffled up the stairs with the dog.

Shaw shut her eyes, taking a deep breath. She still wouldn’t look Root in the eye, fidgety and uncomfortable. Root’s insides churned.

“Is She… did She help you?” Root asked. Her voice trembled. She couldn’t bring herself to ask if the Machine had made it through the fight, but that was what she wanted to know.

“Yeah,” Shaw growled. “The Machine told me what to do and I did it. Just followed orders.”

Shaw looked up at Root and they made eye contact as she continued. “Unlike you.”

Shaw pursed her lips. It felt good to settle into her anger.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Root said, despair creeping up from her stomach, pricking at her eyes. Shaw didn’t need to say more to let Root know that she was far from forgiven. “I thought…”

The taller woman had to pause to swallow the lump in her throat before she could continue.

“She told me that you were at a bigger risk than the rest of us.”

“And _I_ told you that I can take care of myself.” Shaw’s words were sharp. Staccato. They stood looking at one another.

“You’re right. Both of you. And I probably deserve this,” Root said, chewing on her lip to try to keep from tearing up. It didn’t help.

“Deserve _what_? I didn’t _do_ anything to you,” Shaw said. Her words were bitter. But as she finished, Root watched the shorter woman look down at her feet again and saw that Shaw didn’t look half as angry as she sounded.

“She’s not talking to me anymore.” Root’s voice was barely above a whisper. She knew that Shaw wasn’t surprised by this news. “I don’t know if She ever will again.”

They were both quiet for a beat, the hum of the subway station alive around them.

Shaw’s eyes had snapped back to her feet because seeing Root’s brimming with tears made her feel sick. Like she’d swallowed a lead weight that had just dropped into her stomach.

John’s words— his belief that Root needed her— came back to Shaw. He was right, in a way: Root needed to know why Shaw had left. She deserved to know that they hadn’t left her with the dog out of anger. And that Shaw was thinking about leaving, even now.

Sameen reached up and pulled her earpiece out, glad to have thing out of her ear canal. She turned it off and put it into her pants pocket. She took her time, trying to decide how best to explain herself.

“If you had died, and I had lived…” Sameen said, looking up at Root, her eyes bright. She swallowed and blinked, then shook her head. This wasn’t what she’d planned on saying, but now that she’d started she didn’t want to stop. She let the words come straight up from her gut instead of from her brain. “The Machine knows— I wouldn’t have stayed. I would have left and never looked back if the Machine had let you get killed. If doing what it told me to do hadn’t been the only way to get revenge, I would’ve left already.”

Shaw could see Root shaking.

“But if _I_ died, and _you_ lived…” Shaw had to pause, and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Despite all of this being unplanned, Shaw knew that these were the right words. And Root should hear them.

“The Machine’s your God, Root. She knows…” she hesitated. “You’ll always be there for her.”

Root looked into Shaw’s eyes, watched them search her face, and wondered if that was true. Would she have stuck around knowing that the Machine had let not one, but _all_ of those close to her die? Root didn’t know. The loss of _one_ of their little group had shaken her far more than she could have ever imagined. And thinking that the rest of them would be lost as well, she had never felt so afraid. Had never known that sadness. The childhood loss of Hanna was horrible, and this would have returned her to being that scared, lonely girl. This would have been worse.

“No one life matters more than any other,” Shaw continued, her voice low, and Root was grounded again, pulled out of her thoughts. “But… you’re different.”

“She said that?” Root felt herself inflate a bit. She was proud that the Machine might have told someone else that she was significant.

There was a long pause while Shaw’s eyes searched Root’s expression, then the ground. When she finally looked up into Root’s face once more, her mouth was tightly pursed. She swallowed hard, and Root could tell that it was taking extraordinary effort for Sameen to work out what it was that she wanted to say.

“She didn’t have to,” Shaw said. Root blinked as Shaw looked away once more, something like regret in her eyes.

Sameen wished she was somewhere else. Wished that she hadn’t said that, because she had seen Root perk up at the prospect of the Machine separating her from everyone else. Putting her on a pedestal. And it made Shaw _jealous_ , seeing Root light up at the thought of the fucking robotic voice that had spent the last week interrupting Shaw’s thoughts, forcing her to lead the other two around. Shaw didn’t want to be the one that people looked to for help or guidance, and had told the Machine as much. She knew that she was damn good at her job, but it didn’t mean that she wanted to be team leader.

Shaw shook her head. “Your Machine knows it. And _I_ know it. That’s why She started talking to _me_ , instead of John. Or Harold.”

Shaw’s head dropped forward and her mouth immediately snapped shut upon saying the name. Her eyes left Root’s face, and she turned her entire body away from the subway car.

In an instant, her throat tightened like she had a noose around her neck, and she couldn’t bear to look at Root while she tried to stop her body from betraying her.

Root watched Shaw cross the platform, like she was itching to fight or run or do _something_. Root followed out into the subway station in time to watch Shaw kick the cardboard box she’d spent so much time continuously throwing cards into while doing pushups. The deck fell haphazardly, like over-sized, lame confetti, skittering out across the floor.

Irritated by the childishness of the action, Root spoke.

“What happened?” Root asked, surprised by the sudden strength of her voice. Shaw didn’t turn to look at her, and Root rolled her eyes at Shaw’s back, frustrated by the immaturity.

“We killed Greer,” Sameen said after a second, her words clipped. Strangled, even. She continued to take steps away from Root. And Root followed, keeping her distance but also desperate not to be _too_ far, like maybe Shaw would disappear again if she got more than a few yards away, even though they were both in the cave of the subway station and Shaw wasn’t heading towards the stairs. “And Martine.”

“Well, I’m sure glad that seems to have helped so much,” Root said, forcing sarcasm because Shaw wouldn’t stop walking away from her, and she wanted her to turn around. Shaw reached the wall near the cots, and when she heard the comment she slammed her left fist, still wrapped up and healing from the break, into the tiles.

The clatter of the edge of the cast and the dull slap of her flesh pounding the smooth surface echoed, and Root’s jaw tightened. Shaw took a tiny gasp of air, a half-grunt, half-whine escaping her. She leaned bodily against the wall, pressing her forehead against the cool tiles, her wounded hand clutched tight against her stomach.

Root had wanted to get a reaction from Shaw. Wanted Sameen to turn around and look at her. But even as the words had left her mouth, she didn’t know why she was choosing to try to _hurt_ Sameen in the process. That wasn’t really true, that she didn’t know why she had chosen to upset the shorter woman. She knew that Shaw wanted to be mad. That she was ready to fight. Root was just giving her what she wanted.

Root silently approached, listening to the soft, unsteady hiss of air between Shaw’s gritted teeth. Saying nothing, Root stewed on her irritation at Shaw for being so reckless all the time, and wondered if she could reach out and touch her or if she should wait for Shaw to bridge the space between them.

Assuming that Shaw ever did let Root get close again.

That thought was unbearable. So after a moment’s hesitation, Root moved to lean against the wall near Shaw as casually as possible, giving her a sidelong look, anxiously curious to see what she would do next.

When Shaw pulled her head away from the wall and looked up towards Root, Root was startled to to see that her eyes were red, tears welling up in the soft darkness. The taller woman watched Shaw’s face shift from being contorted with pain to something else. That lovely bottom lip quivered, infinitesimally. The only word that Root could find to describe the expression on Shaw’s face was ‘heartbroken’.

“Sameen,” Root whispered the name like an apology, and thought that perhaps she should look away as she watched Shaw’s mouth twist again in pain, trying hard to regain her composure.

When Shaw realized she couldn’t keep it together, she started to turn away again. She was losing her grip on herself.

Root instinctively put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from facing away, and Shaw tried to shrug her off. When Root didn’t let her go, she jerked her shoulder harder.

“Stop,” Shaw said, the word thick. Root’s nerves sent electric heat crawling over every inch of her skin at the sound.

“Sameen,” Root repeated her name, turning her around by force, and caught another glimpse of Shaw’s face screwing up, the tears threatening to fall, before Shaw ducked her head to hide.

“Let me go,” Shaw growled harshly, trying to twist out of Root’s grip.

“No,” Root said, equally stern. “I am _not_ letting you go.”

And she wouldn’t. There was no way in hell that she was letting the woman she loved get away from her. The woman that hardly ever felt anything, who was trying desperately to stave off tears. No. Root was definitely not letting Shaw get away from her again.

“Don’t,” Sameen pleaded, panic in her voice as it broke on the single word. Refusing Root. She acted like she might fight the taller woman, continuing to protest, her unbroken hand shoving against Root’s arms even as Root closed them around Shaw, clutching the shorter woman against her like she was shielding her from a bomb.

“It’s okay, Sam,” Root told her, burying her face in Shaw’s hair. Her eyes pressed shut against the tears forming in them. She didn’t like how thin her own voice sounded. She couldn’t hide the fact that she knew it was only an appeasing lie. It wasn’t okay. Harold was gone.

“ _No_ ,” Shaw said, her voice filled with unadulterated fury, as if she had simultaneously had the same thought. It wasn’t okay. Root had started crying, her body trembling as she suppressed sobs. Shaw said the same word again, “No.” And again. “ _No_.” She beat her unbroken fist against Root, struggling to escape the crush of her embrace.

“ _No_.” Again and again, Shaw spoke the word until her voice broke on a sob. Shaw’s hand that had been pushing Root away stopped shoving against her bicep and instead grasped tightly onto her shirt, clinging to her as Shaw buried her face against Root’s throat, weeping.

Her breathing was ragged and hot against Root’s skin, long halting gasps for air interrupted by the convulsing of Shaw’s body as she cried.

Shaw was lost. Rage and sadness in every sob that tore up from her chest and turned into a roar of frustration. Loud. Uncontrolled.

Root held her, tears running from her own eyes. It was unbearably painful for Root, knowing that Sameen had been so wounded by everything that had happened in the last week. By everything that Root had caused.

But Shaw would always be Shaw— stubborn to her core. As soon as she had started crying, she was already trying to swallow the raw sobs to keep them from escaping. So it wasn’t long before she had moved past the worst of it, her body lurching less frequently. She kept her tight grip on Root’s shirt, shaking as she sniffed hard, her breathing fast and jagged as she tried to control herself.

Root relaxed her hold on the shorter woman, wanting to wipe the tears from her face and lean back so she could look at Sameen. Shaw’s good hand grappled to pull Root closer again. And Root let herself be kept near, her arms snug around Sameen’s ribcage.

The shorter woman wasn’t crying anymore, but her entire body was tense.

 _What the fuck_? Shaw kept cursing internally. Because Shaw didn’t cry. Ever. But here, now, in the subway station, she had lost it for a minute. Only for a minute, but that was a minute too long. Especially with Root.

Shaw tried to hold onto that last thought: Root was dangerous. She had manipulated Shaw and gotten the Persian woman wrapped around her little finger. She had handcuffed Shaw and left her behind when the rest of their little team was diving headfirst into danger.

Shaw knew that she should leave the subway. She wanted to. Wanted to make sure that no one ever took advantage of her like that again.

Root had never thought that she might need to console Shaw, and here she was, at a loss for words, with Sameen holding onto her like a life raft. She turned and pressed her lips against the side of Sameen’s head, the dark hair wet where Root’s own tears had fallen into it. She wasn’t sure what else to do.

Without a thought, Shaw’s mind evacuated all excuses of why she should be wary of the brunette. She wanted Root to consume her. Swallow her whole. On instinct, Shaw lifted her head from where it had been pressed against Root’s throat and tipped her chin up, eyes shut. She blindly kissed Root, finding the corner of her mouth where those perfect lips met, then adjusting her mouth to fully meet Root’s without ever opening her eyes.

Root tasted like tears.

The taller woman hesitated.

Root didn’t know if what Shaw was doing was the best idea when she was so completely undone. When she had, mere minutes ago, essentially confessed that she had thought about leaving. She didn’t know what Shaw was thinking, if she was thinking at all, and she didn’t want Sameen to regret anything later. Especially given that the last times they’d been here were when Root had left Shaw handcuffed and alone, and then when Shaw had left in fury, marching off to war. A sacrificial lamb.

With all of this in mind, Root withdrew. It physically hurt to do so, but she knew it was the right thing to do. Shaw tried to follow Root’s retreating mouth. Tried to keep them together. Root put a hand on the shorter woman’s cheek. Her skin was hot to the touch.

“Sameen, I…” Root started, wanting to tell her what she was thinking, but not sure how. Not sure where to begin. She didn’t want to hurt Shaw. And honestly, Root couldn’t tell what would hurt the darker woman more: stopping or continuing. Shaw opened her dark eyes and looked up at Root, lips turned down at the corners into a little frown.

“Please,” she managed to say, hating how weak she sounded.

Root froze. The word had been so small and quiet. Desperate. Helpless and hopeless. The first snowflake of the season, melted into the air before touching ground.

The woman she loved was broken, and that single word swayed Root.

She tilted her head down to meet Shaw’s kiss again. Hesitant. But her tenderness was drowned by Shaw’s urgency, the unbroken hand now fisting the collar of Root’s shirt to keep them tethered.

Sameen leaned into Root, pushing her backwards, and Root felt her calves bump the cot and her balance start to go. Just like the first time, all of those months ago.

 _No_ , Root thought. _Nothing like that_.

Root tumbled back onto the mattress and when Shaw fell into her and her wrist was twisted between them, the shorter woman emitted a short whine of pain, her head dipping forward to hide her face. Root tried to push her away to see if she was alright, but Shaw was already grabbing at the front of Root’s shirt with her good hand, fumbling to pull it up.

She struggled against the fabric, increasingly frantic and impatient. Maybe it was because she was frustrated by how slow she was forced to maneuver because of the cast, or maybe it was her misshapen hand throbbing, or maybe it was some pain from deep inside of her. Something caused her to sit up, straddling Root’s thighs, and press her good hand over her eyes. Root saw that she had her teeth bared, her chest heaving as she tried to hide her face and get a hold of herself.

Shaw wanted to claw her eyes out of her head. Her body was betraying her, tears burning like acid again, and she hated it. She hated Root for being so damn _comfortable_. For being the one thing on the face of the planet that could get her to let go and be consumed by the chemicals in her brain. Root, who had betrayed her.

Shaw didn’t know what she was doing. Didn’t know why she was letting herself get pulled into the black hole that was Root. She was setting herself up to get screwed over again, and she knew it, but finally being back with Root, and finally being able to rest after spending a week running around London, was intoxicating. Shaw fought against the urge to collapse into Root and let her tears run. With a steadying breath sucked in between her bared teeth, she prepared to get up and leave. Just as soon as she felt like she’d swallowed the lump in her throat, she’d go. Yes, just one minute. If Root knew what was good for her, she wouldn’t try to follow. Just as soon as she had gotten control of herself, Shaw would get up. Any moment now.

Root saw that Shaw seemed to be paralyzed, and sat up to meet her, their chests bumping. The taller woman quickly pulled off her shirt that Shaw had struggled with, then slid one hand up under the bottom of Shaw’s black cotton t-shirt. Root let their lips brush as her free hand found Shaw’s, still covering those dark eyes. Gently, Root moved Shaw’s hand to her own chest, right over her heart. Shaw’s eyes stayed shut tight, her nostrils quivering as she took deep, steadying breaths.

“Look at me,” Root whispered against Shaw’s mouth. Shaw’s body shivered like she was cold, but her skin felt overly warm against Root’s, like her sadness was burning her up from inside. A fever.

Sameen swallowed hard, then opened her eyes.

Root searched Shaw’s face and watched Sameen do the same, her eyes flitting anxiously over Root’s features. Then Shaw’s eyes finally met Root’s. Those eyes with dark circles from a long trans-Atlantic flight were swollen from crying, tears threatening to roll down her blotchy cheeks, sniffing uselessly against a dripping nose. Tired and sore and crushed, inside and out.

And beautiful.

Perfect.

Shaw’s brow furrowed and jaw set under Root’s gaze, but she didn’t look away.

Cautiously, Root lifted the edge of Shaw’s shirt, and the darker-complected woman lifted her arms to let her take it off.

Root had expected Shaw to sucker punch her at the mere suggestion of doing something like this after the incident with the handcuffs, but instead, Shaw’s body calmed as Root undressed them both slowly, her hands steady and reassuring as she slid each layer of fabric away from Sameen’s skin. In the moments between each action, each article removed, Shaw leaned into Root again, their lips hard against one another even as Root quietly guided Shaw to lay beneath her. The only noise came when the Order of Lenin fell from Root’s clothes to the floor, the harsh sound of metal on concrete ringing only for a moment before it was muffled by Shaw’s pants following it.

Fresh tears from Root’s eyes found their way to Shaw’s cheeks. Unlike Sameen, Root didn’t have the power of will to suppress her tears. Now that she had started crying, she couldn’t stop.

When they were all bare skin on skin, Root hovered over Shaw, and stilled. She let their noses touch, but didn’t kiss Shaw. She wasn’t sure if she should keep going. There were still occasional tears escaping from her eyes, and she knew that Shaw would probably be frustrated by them.

At the lack of movement, Shaw lifted her head and kissed Root again. She had seen that Root was trying to stop herself from crying, and connected their mouths like she could swallow Root’s heaving sobs. She put her good hand on Root’s bare lower back when Root ducked away from her mouth. When Root didn’t lift her face again, Shaw’s wounded left hand found Root’s brown hair and clumsily brushed it back to look at her. Root turned and kissed the cast where the inside of Shaw’s wrist was hidden under the hardened wraps.

They made eye contact again, and Shaw tucked her lip into her mouth as she watched Root hesitate.

“Are you sure?” Root asked, her eyes still shining. Shaw nodded a single quick motion.

“Are _you_?” Shaw asked back. When Root nodded, the motion was slower. Longer.

“I just… I know you’re angry at me,” Root said, wiping the latest tears from her face. Shaw brushed Root’s hands aside, and Root felt the need to apologize. “I— I’m sorry, I can’t stop crying.”

“Root,” Sameen whispered. Root stopped trying to look away to keep from weeping and saw that Shaw was looking at her in a way that was somehow both tragic and earnest. The hint of a smile twitched on Sameen’s face, only making her look more forlorn. “Shut up.”

Root felt her insides warm at Sameen’s words. They were oddly sweet in their impatience. Root’s weight shifted so she could slide a warm palm down to Shaw’s bare chest, pressing a leg between Shaw’s. She was rewarded by Shaw’s hips moving to meet her, her head lifting to find Root’s mouth again.

It seemed as though they were underwater. And not because Root was still crying.

Although she was— Shaw realized that Root hadn’t exaggerated. She really couldn’t stop.

It scared Shaw. It scared her that Root couldn’t control her tears. It scared her that this was probably what Root had been reduced to while she was alone. It scared her that she herself had cried. The last time she’d cried was… when she was still in diapers, probably. And more than anything else, it scared her that she was so damn happy to be back here with Root. To be so comforted by her presence.

Sameen couldn’t bear it when Root tried to duck her head to kiss her neck and shoulders. It hurt deep in her chest, not having their bodies fully connected. She knew it was stupid to feel disconnected when Root was still right there in the bed with her, but logic had flown out the window as soon as she’d walked into the station and seen Root standing in the old subway car.

Root began to trail kisses down Shaw’s chest. And even though Shaw knew that Root was on a slow but deliberate path down to her pelvis, Root’s warmth slipping away was like being dropped into the ocean with her hands tied. Shaw’s heart thundered in her chest and she scrambled to grab for Root’s hand. In an instant, Root glanced up and rose to kiss Shaw again, eyes like apologies.

 _She knew_ , Shaw thought to herself, and felt her throat grow tighter, forehead pulling. Shaw wrapped her wounded arm around Root’s shoulders, the taller woman’s skin cool to the touch, and found solace in burying her face against Root’s neck. She hooked a leg around Root’s to pull their hips together again.

Their hands bumped when they simultaneously reached down between them, and Root’s mouth dropped open as the fingers of Shaw’s good hand found her, slick and ready despite her misgivings about whether or not this was a good idea. Despite her tear-filled eyes.

Shaw forgot about being angry. It wasn’t possible to stay mad when Root was so totally in tune with her. When she was finally safe and sound. Shaw’s fury slipped away from her bit by bit with each perfected motion of Root’s fingers. Each little abrupt exhale from that open mouth. Each tear that dripped down from Root’s face onto Shaw’s head, running into her hair.

Even when, finally, they shuddered, gasped, and writhed out of time, Root’s entire body tightening spasmodically on Shaw’s fingers and Shaw following her over the precipice into painful bliss, pressing her nose and forehead altogether too hard against the side of Root’s face, there were tears rolling down Root’s cheeks.

Shaw put her bandaged hand on the back of Root’s neck, tugging at her to let her body rest heavily on top of Sameen’s. The shorter woman’s arms wrapped tightly around Root’s torso when she succumbed to Shaw’s silent request, still shaking with silent tears.

Sameen kept her eyes shut, still exhausted and crushed but okay for the time being. For just a moment, she could almost forget all of the shit that had happened.

And as Root was held in Sameen’s arms, tears still rolling down her face, three words leapt into the brunette’s mouth. _I love you_. Root swallowed hard against them, doing her best to force them back down her throat to sit heavy in her stomach with the rest of her sobs. But now that they had found their way to Root’s tongue, she couldn’t stop thinking them as she pulled away and looked at the woman beneath her.

Shaw opened her eyes just enough to see Root looking at her strangely.

“What?” Shaw asked. Root shook her head, keeping her mouth tightly shut. She could see Shaw struggling not to be impatient, but she knew that as soon as she opened her mouth she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. Shaw had closed her eyes again and mumbled, “You’re creeping me out.”

Root couldn’t help but smile at that despite her teary eyes.

The words wouldn’t leave her. She wasn’t going to be able to contain them. Maybe that meant that she should simply let them go. She was fairly sure that Shaw had said something similar into her own ear before she’d left for London, so it wouldn’t be coming out of left field. Right?

She decided that she would tell Sameen. Her mouth began to open, the words readying to spill from her.

A phone rang.

Shaw twisted under her, stretching to reach for her pants on the floor beside the bed, fishing her cellphone out of her pocket. Her brow furrowed at the number on the screen and she answered the call, relaxing onto her back under Root, oblivious to the fact that the taller woman was having an internal battle.

“Yeah,” Shaw said. She was confused. Almost hesitant.

“Why’re you calling _me_? How’d you get this number?” Shaw asked. Root couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end of the call, but Shaw’s expression quickly got more annoyed, then offended, moving into sadness that was instantly consumed by anger.

Shaw started to sit up, and Root had to move. The dark-haired woman didn’t notice that Root was watching her, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be there,” Shaw grumbled, hanging up the phone. Root was pretty sure she hadn’t let the other person finish speaking.

“Who was that?” Root asked. Shaw was lost in her own thoughts, pulling on her pants and grabbing her shirt, and didn’t seem to hear Root’s question. Root felt herself panicking, her heartbeat racing. She quickly grabbed for her own clothes. “Where are you going?”

Shaw looked up and realized that Root’s eyes were huge with fear and anguish.

“I’ll be back later. I have some things I need to take care of,” Shaw murmured. Then she was looking away, gathering up her things from the ground.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's been so long! Life, am I right?
> 
> I have not and will not forget about this story! I promise! And I have another (much much shorter) POI story in mind once this one is complete. In fact, I've had the idea for the other piece since about this time last year. So it's no longer all that relevant in terms of the show's plot, but it'll help us all get through this dark time so full of uncertainty.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, leave me a note if that's your thing because I love reading what you guys have to say.

Root licked at her lips nervously as she hurriedly dressed. Shaw was already pocketing her belongings, grabbing her gun, and heading up the steps of the subway station. 

Without the Machine in her ear, Root wouldn’t be able to find Shaw if she disappeared. And she didn’t know if the Machine was watching Shaw now that she was back in the city. Didn’t know if it was safe for Shaw to go out alone to god knew where to do god knew what.

Root couldn’t stand to watch Sameen leave. So she followed the darker-complected woman, staying just far enough away to keep under cover.

She followed when Shaw stopped at a convenience store, hovering outside in the spring sun unable to see what Shaw was up to, and then when the Persian woman emerged a few minutes later with only a manila envelope in hand, Root continued to follow her across Manhattan until they were at the northern edge of the city.

Finally Sameen slowed, and Root watched from afar as Shaw entered the property of an upscale private school. In the yard, teens stood and sat in clusters, all in matching uniforms.

This obviously wasn’t the sort of place that Shaw frequented, and Root wondered if she knew that she was being followed and was deliberately doing something out of the ordinary as a silent ‘screw you.’

But if that was the case, she was taking the whole thing a little too far. Root watched from across the street as Sameen hesitated at the bottom of the front steps of the main building, then walked up to the doors purposefully and disappeared inside.

——————————

Shaw had only agreed to speak with the headmistress to ensure that Gen’s tuition would continue to be paid for by Finch’s extensive funds. She ground her teeth through hearing about Gen’s grades (the tightly wound woman who ran the school pulled the kid’s grade reports to show that she was a B+/A- student and that if she wanted to be competitive for the ‘best’ colleges, she really needed to pull those grades up). Everything about the place reminded Sameen of a more expensive version of the high school that she had once attended.

Her own school had tried to use Sameen’s Persian ancestry to add some racial flair to the photos that they used on newsletters and pamphlets. She would be sandwiched between two other attractive, non-white students: a Korean boy named Hans, whose parents had incorrectly guessed that the name was common in the US, and a girl named Chisom, who had been born in Liberia.

Shaw hadn’t minded Chisom— she was friendly without being overbearing, and Sameen realized in retrospect that she’d had something like a crush on the tall, pretty girl. But Hans had always gotten on her nerves. He tried to perpetuate the idea that the three of them were good friends. The Trifecta, he had called them. Shaw hadn’t want to be friends, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to be the poster child for diversity. She had wanted to be left alone.

It took a while, but she’d eventually gotten out of most of the photoshoots by responding to prompts of ‘Smile!’ by giving the photographer her most surly scowl. The same scowl that she was using to no avail now, facing the headmistress at Gen’s school.

Finally, the middle-aged woman finished side-stepping the issues at hand, requesting that Shaw ‘break the news’ to Gen without ever telling Shaw ‘we heard her benefactor is dead,’ and looked at Shaw, waiting for her to say something. Shaw let the pause lengthen. She knew that the woman was waiting for her reply, and had decided not to give one. Instead, Shaw pulled the manila envelope from her lap with her unbroken hand, laying it between them on the large wooden desk. The headmistress’ eyebrows raised.

“Make sure she gets this,” Shaw said, ready to escape the stuffy office. The headmistress reached out with one subtly manicured hand and lifted the envelope, examining Shaw’s handwriting, the name ‘Gen’ scrawled in blue ballpoint pen, before laying it down once more, flattening the edge of the little package.

“It might help to have you speak to her about her grades, Mrs…” the headmistress looked at Gen’s paperwork, hoping to find the name of what she clearly assumed was the kid’s legal guardian.

“I’m not married,” Shaw replied, terse and smug, not giving the woman the name she was asking for.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,” the headmistress said bluntly, deciding that a direct approach might work a bit better. That was by design, of course. Shaw hadn’t given this woman a name, and didn’t plan on doing so. They had her phone number, which was more than enough information. Finch had apparently given it when filling out the forms to register Gen. And when the school heard from the lawyer representing Finch (or, as they knew him, Mr. Longspur) that the man had passed away, the lawyer had asked that ‘Genrova’ be informed. The school had thought it might be best to get in touch with the girl’s secondary contact, which, as it turned out, was Sameen. It occurred to Shaw that Finch had always been prepared for the worst. He had known from the start that someday, he might not be around.

Without responding to the headmistress’ query, Shaw stood up to leave, pocketing the contact information of Harold’s lawyers. 

“Her grades are fine,” Shaw said, dismissive. “So as long as she’s happy—”

“She _is_. _All_ of our students are happy to be here, and meet with the guidance counselor for regular check-ins,” the headmistress interrupted, and Shaw glared at her. The woman’s sales pitch was transparent, and Shaw was barely able to contain her anger when the stuffy woman continued. “But we thought that the news might be better coming from her guardian. Plus, she could use some help from family in learning to keep herself… tidy, and if she just worked a little harder—”

“If she’s happy, that’s all I need to know. If the lawyer called you, you should talk to her,” Shaw interrupted her back, then nodded at the envelope. “She’ll know who it’s from.”

She headed out of the office without any further fanfare, alarmed that the woman was under the impression that Shaw was Gen’s _guardian_ , and that they were _family_. She managed to make it down the steps of the brick building and almost all the way to the gate before she heard a voice behind her.

“Shaw,” someone yelled. Sameen didn’t turn around, wincing as she continued to walk. The voice came again, more urgent now. “ _Shaw_. _Wait_! I’m not allowed to leave the grounds!”

The smack of the hard soles of dress shoes on stone approached from behind, and finally Gen lurched past her, spinning to stand in her way before she could go out of the wrought iron gate.

The kid had grown. She was closer to eye level with Shaw than the dark-haired woman remembered. And those icy blue eyes looked furious.

“You tried to give this back?” Gen asked, her wildly curly strawberry blond hair whipped into her face by wind. She shoved it back from her face fruitlessly and then thrust the contents of the envelope at Shaw.

Shaw nodded, pushing Gen’s hand away.

“It belongs to you,” Sameen said.

“I gave it to _you_ ,” Gen said, her eyes growing bigger. More upset. Shaw realized she’d hurt the girl’s feelings. That hadn’t been the point. She’d thought that she was doing the right thing, returning the Order of Lenin to her.

Shaw’s eyes searched the lawn. She’d felt like she was being watched on her way here, and the feeling had just increased. She spotted some students that had begun to look their way, and Sameen was pretty sure they were smirking at Gen, who was still fighting her hair.

“How’d you know I was here?” Shaw asked, hoping to change the subject. Gen raised her eyebrows like this was an idiotic question, and Shaw rolled her eyes. “You’ve got a bug in that woman’s office.”

Gen grinned. Now Sameen understood why the headmistress had been avoiding saying what had happened to Harold— the woman must have known that Gen was somehow able to know what was going on in the office, but didn’t know how.

“I just got out of class. If my teacher had let us go any later I wouldn’t have seen you,” Gen said, flashing her phone screen at Shaw and showing an image of the headmistress at her desk, typing on a desktop computer.

“What happened to your hand?” Gen asked, pocketing the phone again. Shaw shrugged and looked Gen over. The kid was still pale as a ghost and skinny in the gawky, awkward way that sometimes accompanied the beginning of puberty.

“They treating you okay?” Shaw deflected.

“I guess,” Gen replied with a roll of her eyes and a deep sigh. She seemed morose as soon as Shaw asked, and Sameen found it hard to keep looking at her. Some of the students who appeared to be Gen’s age were snickering at them from across the grass. They were disproportionately white and all of them looked like they’d been freshly popped out of a mold— plastic wind-up toys readying to enter high society. Shaw remembered the competitive bragging that she had endured in school, the ‘ _my_ father just got promoted to named partner…’ versus ‘last weekend when my family ate with the Kennedys…’.

“Have you got friends?” Shaw asked, and Gen rolled her eyes.

“Yes. I have friends,” Gen said. Shaw pursed her lips. She wasn’t sure the kid was telling the truth. The blond seemed to realize that and looked a little sheepish. “Some of the girls from my team are nice.”

Shaw wondered what team Gen was a part of. Debate or chess or something, probably, given how snobby the school was and how clever Shaw knew that Gen was.

“Where’s Harold?” the girl asked. “He didn’t come to my last couple of games.”

“Your games?” Shaw asked disdainfully. Finch _would_ come watch his ward mentally defeat other students.

_What a bunch of nerds._

“My field hockey games,” Gen said, nodding. “He usually comes and watches me play.”

When Shaw just looked at her, Gen smirked.

“Am I not supposed to notice him in the stands? He’s there almost every week,” Gen said. The kid side-eyed Sameen. “You know, you could come too. If you wanted.”

 _Shit_. It was news to Shaw that Finch had been checking up on Gen. He’d never mentioned anything about it. Maybe he’d thought that it would annoy Shaw if he mentioned the girl that had clearly gotten under her skin.

Somehow, the school had decided not to tell Gen that her benefactor had passed away. They’d thought it would come better from Shaw. They’d been wrong. Shaw was not made for this shit. But she couldn’t _not_ explain now that Gen had specifically asked about him, and the school seemed incompetent enough that she didn’t want to leave it to them to fill the kid in.

“Come here,” Shaw said. She tried not to sound too gruff as she nodded for Gen to follow her to the bleachers.

——————————

Root watched from across the street as Shaw exited the school, walking purposefully towards the gates of the yard. The envelope was gone now.

Just as the taller woman was about to hurry away so that Shaw didn’t spot her, a girl ran out of the doors of the building behind Shaw.

“Shaw!” the girl yelled. She had blond, wildly unkempt hair, skin like porcelain, and an angry look on her face. Root blinked, not sure what to make of this. Who was this kid? How did she know Shaw’s name?

“ _Shaw_. _Wait_! I’m not allowed to leave the grounds!” the girl ran at breakneck speed, calling after Sameen who flinched at the sound. Then the girl was lunging past the Persian woman, spinning so that her back was to Root and she could keep Shaw from getting away and thrusting something towards the surly woman.

The kid was standing far too close to Shaw, like they were familiar with one another, and although Root couldn’t see what it was that the blond girl was trying to give to Shaw, and she couldn’t hear what was being said now that the girl wasn’t yelling, Root realized who this must be.

The brunette quickly shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, then searched her pants. The Order of Lenin wasn’t there. She retraced her actions, and realized that it had fallen to the ground when she and Shaw were undressing. And that Shaw’s pants were what had stopped it from continuing to clatter on the ground. Sameen must have picked it up when she was getting dressed, and Root had been too frantic to notice.

This was probably the number that Shaw had once saved. The kid that had planted a seed in Sameen’s brain that maybe she _could_ feel things, just not the same way that everybody else did.

Root’s heart raced. If Shaw was giving the medal back… what did that mean?

Other students were watching the young blond speak to Shaw, curiosity and dismay on their faces. Like the blond was the butt of a joke. Shaw looked up and around herself, her eyebrows furrowing when she saw the students watching them.

After a few minutes of talking to one another, Root watched Shaw’s expression turn steely. She motioned for the girl to follow her, and led her over to a set of bleachers, where they sat down side by side under a large oak tree, facing the school, their backs to Root.

Shaw shook her head as she spoke. She faced the girl, who sat up extremely straight, leaning away and shaking her head emphatically. Shaw just kept talking, and Root watched as the girl’s hands went to her face and she shrank, shaking.

For a moment, Root thought the girl had started to laugh.

But then Shaw hesitantly reached out and put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, and Root realized that the girl was crying. As soon as Shaw’s hand made contact with the young blond, the girl turned and hugged Shaw, sobbing against her shoulder.

Root watched in disbelief as Shaw patted the girl on the back, stiff and awkward.

——————————

By the time that Shaw left the school, Gen had finally calmed down and stopped crying. It had taken a promise from Shaw that she’d come to some of the kid’s hockey games— a promise that Shaw hadn’t had any intention of keeping when she made it. But the more she thought about how the kid had just crumpled into tears, the more she knew that she _had_ to keep her word, even if it meant sitting on the bleachers with a bunch of stuck-up upper crust snobs watching hordes of Barbies.

As she made her way towards Harold’s lawyers’ office, Shaw had the feeling again that she was being watched. She kept an eye out for some sort of tail, but she didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. It was impossible for Sameen to tell if this was because there really wasn’t anyone following her or if it was because she was so tired that she wasn’t noticing something she should have been. It felt like an eternity since she’d last slept— or slept well, at least.

She tried to shake the feeling that there were eyes following her. Tried to convince herself that it was because she knew that the Machine was probably tracking her every movement. It was no use. Walking the streets of Manhattan, Shaw was _sure_ that someone was walking them with her.

Finally, after ten blocks of growing uncertainty and paranoia, she caught a glimpse of her tail.

Root.

The brunette knew she’d been caught, and stayed statue-still while Shaw stalked back up the sidewalk towards her.

“Seriously?” Shaw said, annoyed by the wounded look on Root’s face. Like she was a puppy who’d been kicked. “You’re stalking me now?”

Sameen tried to make it sound like a joke, but failed. She knew she just sounded mad.

“I… I was afraid something might happen to you. That you wouldn’t come back,” Root said quietly. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“You shouldn’t have followed me. I could’ve shot you,” Shaw said. It irritated her to no end that Root thought that she couldn’t trust Shaw to return to the subway. She could tell that Root was going to keep trying to explain herself, and looked around them to assess the threat level of the pedestrians sharing the sidewalk with them. “Look. We’ll talk later, okay? I just— I’ve got stuff I need to do.”

Shaw started walking again before Root had a chance to reply. The taller woman’s eyes had started to shine with the possibility of tears, and Shaw couldn’t handle her breaking down right now.

When she made it to the end of the block, Shaw looked back before rounding the corner. There was no sign of Root. And when she continued on her trek to the lawyer’s office, she no longer felt eyes on her.

——————————

It was much later when Shaw returned to the subway station. She had tried to call Reese but he didn’t answer, so she stopped at his apartment to tell him what she’d learned from the lawyers. But John wasn’t home, it seemed. She knew that he was probably with Zoe or out with Bear, so she wasn’t worried, but it annoyed her that he was unreachable. Especially when she thought that he would want to see the copy of Finch’s will that the lawyer had given her. She hadn’t known that the document even existed. She wondered if John did.

She had considered breaking into Reese’s apartment, but the time change was doing her no favors and she thought there was a chance that he _was_ in fact home, but asleep, so she decided to go back to the station and try to get Root to shut up and let her sleep for a while. It was dinner time in New York, but late into the night in London.

As she entered the station, she was a little surprised that it was silent. The lights were all on, shining too brightly down on the cold empty space, but it took Shaw a minute to find Root.

The brunette was on the bed, facing away from the entrance. She still had her boots and jacket on, but she appeared to be asleep. Shaw took a deep breath of relief and went to turn off the lights outside of the subway car, letting the glow of the old vehicle stay on. As soon as the lights shut off, Root jerked and looked over her shoulder. When she saw Sameen, she turned away once more.

Shaw walked over to the bed and kicked off her shoes, looking around for some clothes to sleep in.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Shaw mumbled, picking up a shirt and some shorts and starting to change. Root didn’t reply.

“You should change,” she continued when there was no response. She dropped her dirty clothes to the floor, loosely folded, and then turned to the bed. She would’ve thought that Root was asleep if she hadn’t noticed her shivering.

“At least get under the blankets if you’re cold,” Shaw said, trying not to let her irritation get the best of her.

Again, she was met by silence. So Shaw climbed into the bed, sliding down under the covers and letting her head drop back onto the pillows. She felt the tightness in her throat and the hard knot under her sternum get worse. The grief that she had been carrying in her stomach nauseated her once more, creeping over her again. She blamed her tiredness but knew that was a lie.

Beside her, Root suddenly sucked air in, shaking and then freezing again. Shaw turned her head and saw how tense the brunette’s back and shoulders were. Without much thought, Sameen reached out with her unbandaged hand, the one closer to Root’s back, and brushed her knuckles against Root’s tricep. Root’s unsteady breaths started up again, more ragged than before, and Shaw realized the other woman was crying. She knew better than to think that she could go to sleep without acknowledging that Root was upset.

“What?” Shaw asked. She knew that the single word had sounded more clipped and annoyed than was necessary or helpful. Root shook her head and Shaw rolled her eyes at the back of Root’s head. The waves of brown hair on the pillow beside hers.

“You came back,” Root said. The words were high-pitched and tight, like Root was barely containing her tears. Shaw’s brows pulled together.

“Of course I came back,” she replied. Shaw knew that she shouldn’t snap, but she honestly didn’t understand Root sometimes. “I said I would.”

Without replying, Root sat up. She numbly kicked off her shoes, tugged off her pants, and lay back down, pulling the blankets up to her hips, still facing away from the woman beside her. After a moment of silence, Root turned her head so that she was looking up at the ceiling, and Shaw could see that her cheeks were wet and her face was puffy from crying.

The warmth of sleep was already wrapping itself around Shaw. Her eyelids felt heavy, her thoughts slowing.

Wordlessly, Root rolled onto her back, and when her mouth opened like she was getting ready to speak, Shaw knew that the imminent promise of rest was going to be interrupted. She’d been faced with too many tears today, and was getting pretty tired of having to navigate emotional situations. She wished Root would just wait until morning.

For a moment, it looked to Shaw like Root was getting ready to smile. But instead, the corner of Root’s mouth quivered. An uncontrolled twitching. Shaw thought to herself that it appeared to be a muscle spasm caused by trying to stop crying or emotions or something. The brain was strange like that sometimes, sending mixed, confused signals that didn’t have much of a purpose or reason.

Sameen didn’t know why she was compelled to roll onto her side sleepily so that she was facing Root, and reached out to put her broken hand on the taller woman’s stomach. When Root took another wavering breath, successfully containing another sob, Shaw could feel the sporadic flexing of Root’s abdominal muscles through the brace.

The teary-eyed woman kept looking at the ceiling, and Shaw thought that Root may have decided not to speak after all.

 _Whatever._ Shaw told herself that Root should know better than to think that Shaw would ask what was wrong twice. She was lucky that Sameen had asked at all, given that Root had been following her around New York that afternoon.

“I told Harold, once,” Root started, then had to stop to blink away tears and swallow before she could keep speaking. Shaw’s nausea worsened at the mention of his name. The heavy bloat of grief expanded in Shaw’s stomach, acidic in her throat. Her mind had found the last memory she had of Harold alive. The way his mouth had formed a startled little circle as he shook under Shaw’s hands. Struggling to breath while Shaw just watched him suffer. The Persian woman wanted to withdraw from Root. To turn away and curl into a ball and fall asleep with her fingers crossed, hoping that she wouldn’t be plagued by dreams. “That every system has a flaw.”

“And… I’m good at finding them,” Root continued softly. Her cool hand found Shaw’s, still resting on her stomach. She let her palm cover the back of Shaw’s hand, the cast keeping them separated. Shaw looked at their hands, folded on top of one another, and waited to hear what Root said next. “I thought, for a long time, that the Machine was different.”

“An exception,” Root kept speaking, her words separated by long pauses. Shaw could see that her eyes were flitting around the ceiling, like she was looking for something in the hairline fractures that extended across Finch’s subway station. An answer, maybe. Or hope. Whatever it was that Root was searching for, Sameen doubted that the woman would find it. Root’s lip twitched again, and when she spoke, it was in two short, hurried bursts. Trying to get words out between the waves of sadness that meant more tears. “But it’s not. I finally found the flaw in the Machine.”

Shaw stayed quiet, waiting for Root to explain.

Root swallowed hard. Started to open her mouth and closed it again. Swallowed once more.

Finally, Root turned her head to look at Shaw and smiled sadly, her mouth tight, the corner where her lips met still moving slightly, almost like a vibration. Shaw raised her eyebrows in question.

“It’s me,” Root said finally. Her voice had the phony light tone that was meant to make it sound like what she was saying was funny, but her eyes were shining and her lips had clamped shut again into that weird smile.

Sameen hated that it saddened her even more to hear Root say that.

“Your Machine’s flaw,” she told Root, “is that it can’t act on its own. It has to manipulate us to get what it wants.”

She played up her annoyance, scowling.

“If I had just… done what She asked…” Root said, shaking her head.

“Then we _all_ would have been cornered together, and there would have been no one to run in and save us,” Shaw finished Root’s thought. She didn’t deal well with hypotheticals like this. Simple changes— if Shaw had cleared Samaritan’s agents of their weapons, they wouldn’t have been able to shoot Harold— she could do. But when it came to such enormous possibilities as what Root was suggesting, it was anyone’s guess how things would have changed.

“You don’t know that,” Root said quietly, her voice shaking, her diaphragm still unsteadily rising and falling under Shaw’s hand. Shaw didn’t understand what the point of the conversation was. It wasn’t like it would bring Harold back.

While she watched, a tear dripped from Root’s temple onto the pillow, and Sameen’s insides twisted tighter, the fire in her stomach creeping up her body to her face, then prickling across her scalp.

 _Shit_.

Watching Root’s inability to keep from crying was doing strange things to her. Shaw’s own eyes were watering. She dug the nail of her thumb into the pad of the middle finger of her unbroken hand, hidden between their torsos. The pain was meant to ground her, but the attempt to squash her sadness down was unsuccessful and she swallowed hard, trying to be logical. Even that failed to help. Her heart rate only picked up as she searched her mind and realized what was probably happening to her.

Her physiological response was just the result of another trick of the brain— analyzing emotional stimuli (Root’s sadness, in this case) and trying to mirror them. Researchers believed it to be a survival mechanism on its most basic level: apparent empathy from Shaw was designed to trigger something in Root’s own brain. To let her know that Sameen wasn’t a threat, and that they were on the same side. That the two of them were in this together. Part of a close knit community. A family unit.

Maybe it comforted Root, but it made Shaw uneasy.

Root lifted her hand from on top of Shaw’s on her stomach and turned her head to look up at the ceiling again, rubbing at her eyes as she took a shuddering breath.

Sameen watched in silence for a moment, grinding her teeth as she blinked away the moisture that had sprung to her own eyes. She guessed that had she not been so tired, she wouldn’t have responded the way that she did. That provided some small comfort, and helped her relax a little.

She inhaled deeply and sighed, interrupting herself with a yawn.

Not even Root’s shaking beside her was going to able to keep Shaw from falling asleep. She was so ready to drift off, her exhaustion dizzying. She started to roll onto her back when Root spoke again, causing Shaw to pause.

“That girl… the one at the school,” Root said, and Shaw stiffened. “She was the one who…”

Root trailed off. She had glanced at Shaw when the shorter woman’s body went rigid, and saw that her words were the only thing keeping Sameen from falling asleep. She watched Shaw’s eyelids open, heavy with fatigue and frustration.

“Yeah,” Shaw said, her voice dark.

“Did you give it back to her? The medal?” Root asked. Shaw shook her head minutely.

“Made me keep it,” she murmured. Root wanted to say something more, but Shaw closed her eyes again and rolled back into Root. This came as a surprise to the taller woman.

What Root didn’t know was that Shaw was keeping her eyes shut because she could still feel them burning. She tucked herself against Root’s side, her arm snaking across Root, one leg slung over the taller woman’s, and buried her face in Root’s hair. All to hide the fact that she could feel the threat of tears.

Because Sameen couldn’t separate herself from her feelings, and couldn’t keep her thoughts from getting tangled. They were jumbled in her brain, and every time she thought she had successfully moved on from one, another crept in. Watercolors bleeding into one another.

Root crying was painful to watch, and Shaw kept remembering that last glimpse of Root—hyperventilating as she was left behind while the others sought revenge. The terrible feeling of Harold’s body finally going still under her hands, her grotesque broken bones twisting but she couldn’t distinguish that pain from the rest of it, every inch of her on fire with rage. She hadn’t even been able to say anything to him in those final moments aside from demanding that he keep breathing. And then there was Reese, who was supposed to be her partner, but she’d tried to pick a fight with him, and she still didn’t even know why. At least he had Zoe. But Gen… Gen was alone again. All the girl had was a fucked up ex-assassin as her listed emergency contact. Shaw— a selfish piece of shit guardian who spent the whole time that she ‘comforted’ the kid trying to find a way to get away from her. They all deserved better. And Shaw couldn’t give that to them.

She felt useless.

She fought to slow her breathing down so that Root would think she was asleep. She couldn’t talk to the woman beside her anymore. Not tonight.

An arm wrapped around Shaw’s shoulders, holding her even closer, pulling until Sameen was half on top of Root.

The action was so simple, intended on Root’s part to comfort herself. To reassure herself that Sameen was really there in her arms. That they were together. Safe and sound.

Shaw too was soothed by the warmth of Root so snug against her, although she wasn’t entirely sure how that worked, or why.

She kept her eyes tightly shut, breathing in through her nose deeply, unintentionally inhaling the smell of Root. Not shampoo or soap. Not even sweat. Just the indefinable smell of _Root_. Relieved, she finally drifted off to sleep. She was so tired that if she did dream, she didn’t remember in the morning.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m here! I’m alive! I’ve got another chapter for you!
> 
> Sorry I vanished (again) for such a long-ass time. I’m gonna go ahead and skip the excuses. Thank you all for leaving me comments and trying to get in touch and saying "Yo, what the heck?? Where the hell are you??" (ok, maybe not exactly that) in the nicest way possible.
> 
> I think I’m going to post one more full chapter and then the last scene is going to be a separate 'chapter'. More of an epilogue sort of situation. AND I’m going to try to get them posted by the show’s return. Yeah, I know, I've made promises before and have not kept them, and I'm probably shooting myself in the foot by even mentioning my plan. But given how bad I am about keeping you all in the loop, I want to at least try! I love you guys!
> 
> The biggest reason I’m gonna try to finish up quickly is that life is just gonna keep being very busy for me for a while, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep up with CBS’ airing schedule of two episodes a week (not live, day-of viewing, anyway). I am pretty sure I’m gonna periodically go dark on here, twitter, tumblr, and instagram, because if things get spoiled for me I’m going to be really bummed! I like being blissfully free of preconceptions!
> 
> Again, I’m really sorry! Please forgive me!
> 
> Oh yeah— I’m also sorry this chapter is angsty. As if anyone is remotely surprised by that. ;)

Days passed.

The hours above ground whipped by for Shaw.

She continued to set Harold’s affairs in order. Whenever she called John, he didn’t answer. She knew he would be keeping busy with his day job now that they’d returned. While Shaw didn’t miss the makeup counter one bit, she knew that Reese didn’t mind playing detective. She also knew that it would be hard for him to keep it together if he had to meet with the lawyers and the other people that she was being sent to sort things out with, so it wasn’t a bad thing that he was busy, probably playing cops and robbers with Fusco.

But Shaw actually kind of liked it. It was nice to feel that she had a purpose.

She’d lied to the lawyers, telling them she knew most of Finch’s contacts. Anyone who questioned her, saying they’d never seen her before, was given the same response: he was a very private person. This wasn’t news to anyone, and she was quickly participating in the initial stages of the execution of his will.

So far, that had meant traveling the city as his representative, meeting people and organizations that Harold had admired and supported.

After causing his death, it was good to feel like she was somehow helping.

Even so, sitting in waiting rooms and having meetings with overly-optimistic educators, curators, and administrators who handled student scholarships (Gen wasn’t the only student Finch had funded, it turned out) got tedious after a while. And it wasn’t the only reason she was glad to help the lawyers.

She liked the excuse to get out of the subway station.

Returning to their hideout at the end of each day was both a relief and a source of dread. Because while above ground she was constantly moving and working, the hours below ground dragged by.

Root was muted. Her eyes were red-rimmed more often than not, and she’d stopped offering up apologies or explanations. Shaw would come back and it felt like an eternity would pass, Root quietly staring at the wall with glassy eyes, the corners of her mouth turned downward. Silent.

Sameen wanted to make Root stop. By the fifth night, it was more than just frustrating— Shaw was beginning to worry. Root didn’t seem to have left their hideaway since she’d followed Shaw around the city, and she barely looked at the food that Shaw would bring. Sameen had been to medical school, and she couldn’t help but run a mental check-up, marking off items on the ‘major depressive episode’ list as she saw them.

“You’ve got to eat, Root,” Shaw told her, when, once again, the taller woman distractedly pushed her food around her plate. She regretted how annoyed her voice sounded when Root didn’t even look at her. Shaw tried to change tack.

“Have you gone outside?” Shaw asked. Root shook her head, her watery eyes focused on the plate in front of her. Shaw’s nostrils flared with the effort it took to keep from sounding pissed off when she continued. “You can’t keep sitting around down here, _waiting_ for something to change.”

“I know things won’t change,” Root said abruptly, her quiet words stilling the air between them. Shaw squirmed under the painful gaze that Root gave her. “We can’t go back to… to the way things were before. I know that.”

Root looked back down at her food, prodding at some meat with her fork. Shaw wanted to scream in Root’s face. But she knew that if she, herself, was nursing a deep-seated ache, Root was being bled dry by her grief. So regardless of what Shaw needed or wanted to help console _herself_ , her priority was figuring out what to do to keep Root from completely wasting away.

“You should shower.” Shaw didn’t mean it to sound like Root was dirty (although she was, by that point), she just wanted Root to _do_ something. And showering had always helped Shaw feel a little more human. “It might help. Could make you feel better.”

But Root didn’t get up. Barely even acknowledged that Shaw had spoken. So Shaw sighed to show her annoyance, left the quiet woman with her plate still sitting uneaten in front of her, and walked away. She couldn’t look back at Root, sitting in the old subway car. She was too tired after working long days on Harold’s will to force the brunette to do anything when she got back.

Shaw was at a loss. She got into bed and faced away from the empty pillow.

When Root came and crawled onto the mattress behind her, Shaw heard her sniffle as though she was fighting tears. And then Root’s hand was slipping over Shaw’s body to her stomach, her thin fingers splaying, searching for the waistband of Sameen’s underwear.

Electricity sparked up from the base of Shaw’s spine as she realized that Root was making a pass despite being a mess. Half of her wanted to let Root’s hand find its way between her legs, spooning up behind Shaw and breathing hot on the nape of the Persian woman’s neck. But the other half, the rational half, had heard that quick sniff. Knew that Root was on the verge of tears, and whatever this was, it wasn’t going to help.

Shaw had been avoiding being ‘physically intimate’ with Root since that first day that she got back. Because while it never failed to help _Shaw_ feel better to fuck, she didn’t think that Root worked the same way. That last time they’d slept together, Root had cried the entire time. And then Shaw, coming down from her high breathing heavily, finally finding some relief, felt Root’s stare before she’d opened her eyes to look at the taller woman. And the expression on Root’s face… it had been so strange. So unfamiliar. Somehow both extreme happiness and sadness were visible there. Shaw thought it looked like Root expected her to know what was going on in her head, and Shaw just _didn’t_. And now, she worried that if they had sex, it would hurt Root, even if the taller woman didn’t say so. Not physically, but _emotionally_. And Shaw couldn’t bear that thought. In her current state, Root couldn’t be trusted not to lay back and think of England, and the mere possibility made Shaw’s skin crawl.

Even now, when Root was initiating things, Shaw knew it was probably an attempt to make the Persian woman less irritated with her, not something that Root actually wanted.

Shaw took hold of Root’s wrist to stop her, the motion awkward because her good arm was underneath her.

“Don’t,” Shaw said. Behind her, she could feel Root shaking. Shaw shifted so that she was holding onto Root’s hand, not her wrist, drawing it up so that it was on the dip of her waist instead of drifting between her thighs. Shaw didn’t know what else to do. For four days, she’d been walking on eggshells. For four days, she’d been meeting strangers about the loss of a man that most of them had never even met, coming back to this place, and watching Root struggle to make conversation. It was exhausting, and it couldn’t last.

——————————

Day six back in New York was sunny.

That should have been a good thing.

Spring had taken hold of the city and warmed the heavily-trafficked sidewalks, but the offices that Shaw visited didn’t seem to have gotten the memo. They were unpleasant and stuffy— the humid warmth that came with zero air circulation. Whoever was in charge had turned off the heat in the buildings but hadn’t switched on the air conditioning yet, so all of the offices were filled with fermenting deodorant and hair spray. Each place Shaw went had its own unique blend of personal hygiene products, commingling and diffusing into the bland suits that populated the cubicles.

Sameen had spent the day looking forward to being able to head back to the subway station. The meeting with board members of a museum who expressed their condolences in a removed, wooden way had finished. She could tell that they didn’t really remember Harold aside from the sizable checks that he sent them. And then it was the end of the afternoon, and she was exiting the sliding glass doors onto the sidewalk. The sun was so bright and high in the sky that it was cooking the trash in the dumpsters until the nauseating sour-sweet aroma of rotting garbage and urine permeated the streets.

She’d been planning all day for these moments. She’d thought she would walk around for a while to try to relax a little before she had to deal with Root, maybe stop by Reese’s apartment to see if he was there, then pick up Root’s favorite food to take to the station with her.

But now that she was leaving the museum’s office and inhaling a lungful of slow-cooked pollution, she felt disappointed and lost. Even though she’d spent the day mulling over all of the things that they’d eaten together over the course of the past few months, Shaw had no idea what Root’s favorite foods were. She was pretty sure that everything they ate was chosen for _Shaw_ , not _Root_. The taller woman was just along for the ride, doing her best to mellow Shaw’s perpetual bad mood.

It made Shaw sick to her stomach with guilt, realizing how inconsiderate she was. Root had spent months mentally filing away every little piece of information that she could about Shaw. And Shaw? Well, she could tell that Root was sad, and had been doing an almost passable job of not snapping when Root got weepy. Other than that…?

_Root likes coffee_. Shaw was proud of herself for remembering this minutiae until she walked into a little cafe to pick some up. That was when she realized just how vague the phrase ‘Root likes coffee’ truly was, and how little she really knew about the fair-skinned woman.

She let her eyes glaze over the list of drinks on the overly-cheerful chalkboard until she arbitrarily selected one to order. She didn’t know what the different names meant, and she had no idea what Root would have picked.

“Yeah, can I get a.. uh… a latte?” she asked. Shaw half-feared, nonsensically, that the college-aged girl behind the counter would know what Shaw was up to. Like at any moment, she would scoff and correct Shaw’s order.

“For here or to go?” The barista hadn’t picked up on Shaw’s jaw clenching and unclenching, or the blood rushing in her ears. She hadn’t seen that the Persian woman was embarrassed.

“To go,” Shaw managed to get out, imagining being outside again, where at least the deafening hiss of the espresso machine would be absent. She didn’t know why she was on edge. Couldn’t put her finger on why she was on the verge of just turning around and leaving without finishing her order.

The girl was looking at her expectantly, and Shaw knew she’d missed something. She’d been too caught up in her own mind. That wasn’t good news. She didn’t know how much she’d missed over the last few days while her thoughts sped between the members of her little crew.

_How could I let this happen?_ She didn’t know what ‘this’ even was. Harold’s death? Or not knowing anything about Root? Wishing she _did_ know what Root would order? Caring so much about the whole group of them? _Fuck._ All of the above.

The girl was still looking at her, raising those eyebrows that had been penciled in too aggressively.

“What?” Shaw asked, overly annoyed. She swallowed, pressing her lips together as she tried to get a hold of herself.

“I asked if you wanted a small or large,” the girl said disdainfully, putting a hand on each of the example cups.

——————————

When Shaw got back to the subway station, earlier than usual, the damp coolness was welcome. She’d picked up some food (grilled fish— one salmon, one grouper because once again, she didn’t know what Root liked) as well as a bottle of white wine and the coffee. It was difficult to carry all of the things she’d brought with one hand in a cast, but she had the heaviest bag clutched against her with her bad arm, leaving her good hand to take care of the rest. Everything was a blind guess, but she hoped that it would make Root cheer up a little. At the same time, however, she wasn’t sure that she wanted the taller woman to _realize_ that it was an attempt to shake her out of the frightening state she’d been in.

She braced herself for the sharp smell of Root’s un-showered skin. Prepared herself to be greeted by a blotchy face and red eyes. For Root’s body, all but motionless on the bed.

But the cots were empty. And when she ducked into the subway car, Root wasn’t there either. Shaw swallowed her concern and put down the bags, gently maneuvering them to keep the coffee from sloshing onto her hand.

There was a different smell permeating the damp air than what Shaw had expected. Familiar, though it took her a beat to figure out where it was coming from. It was the shampoo that Root had brought her when Shaw had first been trapped down here. And once she’d placed the smell, Shaw realized that the bathroom door was shut, and she picked out the sound of running water from the station’s hum.

She didn’t know what on earth compelled her to go to the bathroom door. Part of her was wondering if Root was ok. Needed to check on her. But she knew, as warm steam seeped under the door and filled her sinuses, that she shouldn’t do it. Not with the way Root was acting. 

So she let her hand drop from the door knob and walked back to the subway car, fiddling on the laptop to distract herself from the thought of Root’s lean body standing under the shower head. Root’s chin tipping up as she washed her hair, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her throat.

By the time that Shaw heard the bathroom door open, she’d worked herself up into a quiet frenzy and had to take a deep breath to still her insides.

She craned a bit, just in time to watch Root’s shadow cross the floor, then got up and leaned against the door frame of the subway. Root had the towel wrapped loosely around her torso, her narrow shoulders hunching against the cool air.

Shaw thought that maybe Root was moving past the worst of her grieving.

Root paused near the bed and knelt beside the piles of clothes. Then she must have caught sight of Shaw out of the corner of her eye. She stood up quickly, arms folding protectively over her chest, before she recognized the darker-haired woman.

Even from across the room, Shaw could see that Root’s nose was still pink, her eyes rimmed with red but less swollen than they’d been for days. She’d finally taken Shaw’s advice and showered. Shaw gave her a weak half-smile, stood up straighter, and watched Root’s eyebrows pull upward. The tiny movement tied Shaw’s stomach into knots, and she had to look at her feet before continuing because Root was staring at her so intently. Unblinking. Steady. Shaw stole a glance up at her again.

“I brought dinner,” Shaw said, surprised by how soft her voice sounded, and not just in volume. “Fish. Salmon and grouper. You can take your pick. And uh, other stuff— salad. Quinoa.”

The word felt unfamiliar in her mouth and she swallowed, embarrassed.

“So…” Shaw said, shrugging and gesturing towards the table in the metro car. “I guess I’ll be— I’ll wait in here.”

“Ok,” Root replied. Shaw turned before Root dropped the towel. She knew that Root would recognize the look on her face if she stayed and watched. She also knew that she might not be able to stop herself from crossing the room and pushing Root onto the bed.

Shaw busied herself removing the different boxes from the bag of food, her broken hand uselessly trying to help.

When Root entered the car a minute later, she blotted at her wet hair with the towel, then draped it over the back of Harold’s desk chair.

Root’s hair looked darker when wet, and as it slowly dried it framed her face in delicately curling tendrils. She was wearing one of Shaw’s old black tank tops from the multi-packs she bought because she didn’t get the point in buying name-brand gear. It was jarring to see Root in the utilitarian, faded-to-grey shirt. Especially when she looked so sad. It made her look… fragile. Breakable.

Shaw could tell that Root was watching Shaw watch her, and it made Shaw self-conscious. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at the coffee.

“That’s yours, if you want it,” she said. After a beat, Shaw added a lie, although she wasn’t really sure why. “I drank mine already.”

Shaw watched Root’s long fingers wrap around the warm cup and quelled the urge to reach out and take that hand in her own.

She wasn’t sure why she was so struck by Root this evening.

They ate quietly, sharing the wine when Root finished her coffee, and Shaw was pleased when Root actually ate some of the things that Shaw had brought.

“You should go outside. Do things,” Shaw said carefully. She figured things were looking a little less bleak than usual, and she might as well encourage Root to keep getting better. It didn’t hurt that Shaw had been fortified by a couple glasses of wine. Her muscles were relaxed, and she was less anxious about being caught with her eyes on the milky skin exposed by Root’s tank top’s deep neckline.

Root didn’t respond at first. Shaw knew that with that comment she was in danger of becoming a broken record, she just didn’t know what else to do or say.

“It’s not like I have anywhere to go.” Root sounded bitter, and Shaw didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean until Root continued. “She only talks to you now.”

“No, she doesn’t,” she told Root. “I told it to leave me alone. If your Machine wants someone’s help, it’s gonna have to ask.”

Shaw heard belatedly the mixed pronouns she’d used.

Perplexed, Root’s brows raised.

“She’s not _my_ Machine,” she said. Shaw could tell that something had sparked in Root’s core and if Shaw didn’t do or say something to divert her, Root would be tearing up any minute now.

“The fresh air helps me,” Shaw said, veering back towards her initial conversation opener, wishing she could keep the grumble out of her voice and sound more reassuring.

“What if it’s not safe? What if something happens to you?” Root asked, the pitch of her voice rising. Shaking. Shaw bit the inside of her cheek to try to keep her nose from wrinkling in disgust.

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” she said. She knew it sounded a little like she wanted to slap Root in the face, and she took a deep breath, hoping she could pull off a slightly joking tone. “I’m going through his will, not fighting the robot apocalypse.”

Shaw guessed that it didn’t come out quite right, because if anything Root looked _more_ wounded as she absorbed the words. Root looked away from her, finally, eyes finding Harold’s computers. Shaw ate the last bite of her fish, chewing slowly.

“I’m afraid, if I leave... that you won’t be here when I get back,” Root said finally, and Shaw looked up to see the big dark eyes fixed on her own. Those words from Root’s tongue left a sour taste in Shaw’s mouth, the acrid burn of anger comforting in its familiarity. She encouraged it. Let it overwhelm the small swell of affection. Anger, at least, was something she knew how to handle. She swallowed her food.

“I _won’t leave you_ ,” Shaw snapped, her shoulders tight again. She was pissed at herself for not thinking to try to squash the anger that she had welcomed with open arms, because the harsh sound of her words was bound to make things worse. She was also pissed at herself because she hadn’t thought through how significant those words would sound before they were hanging in the air between them. She hadn’t smothered the affection enough.

Shaw got up. Picked up her empty takeout container.

Root watched her go, mind racing desperately. _How can she do that? How can she sit across from me with her eyes keeping track of every inch of exposed skin, say_ that _, and then walk away?_

Root wanted Shaw to grab a hold of her, even if it was in anger. Root just wanted to _feel_ her. To know, for a moment, that she wasn’t drifting alone, carried out by the current to the deepest, blackest water where she would sink like a stone.

She didn’t know why Shaw was being so strange and distant. At the very least, she wished she knew how to get Sameen to stop looking at her feet right when Root felt like they were on the verge of being on even footing. Root _needed_ to know that Shaw still wanted to be there, and wasn’t sticking around out of some sense of obligation. Root knew it was stupid. Knew that she shouldn’t rely on the reassurance of another person. But god damn it if she didn’t want to give up on everything, and feeling like Sameen didn’t want her anymore was the last nail in the coffin.

But Shaw _did_ want her. Root _knew_ that Sameen wanted her. Shaw had said _something_ in Root’s ear before she left to go to London to get revenge and Root was absolutely, without a doubt certain that Sameen _cared_.

Root stood up.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Root said, despair creeping into her voice. Shaw dropped her trash into the waste basket and looked over her shoulder towards Root, but she still wasn’t looking _at_ Root.

“Yeah? Right back at ya,” Shaw’s sarcastic sneer made Root’s eyes flutter tearfully. Root followed Shaw’s path to the trash can and stopped beside her, inches between them.

“You want to know what I want, Sameen? I want you to _look_ at me,” Root said. After a long beat, Shaw looked up at Root through her lashes, a petulant, childish expression on her face. And then Shaw swallowed, her dark eyes flickering away from Root’s eyes, catching on the lips in front of her own before they fell the floor.

Root reached out and tugged on the shorter woman’s jacket, turning her and tilting her head down to kiss her. Shaw didn’t let it linger long, breaking off and ducking her head.

“Don’t,” Shaw breathed against Root’s chin.

“Why? What did I do?” Root knew Shaw would hate the pleading tone of her voice, but she couldn’t control it. She wanted to cry again, her throat tight.

Shaw winced, and Root felt her heart pushing up against the vice-like grip that the incoming tears had on her esophagus.

“Today, I— I was trying to think of what you like to eat. Or what coffee you like… and I had no idea,” Shaw said, shrugging helplessly, avoiding eye contact. “I barely know anything about you. Because I’m— I’m always thinking about what _I_ want.”

Root was about to ask again what it was that Shaw wanted, but Shaw answered before she could get the words out.

“And mostly, right now… what I want is for you to stop crying all the time,” Sameen seemed to realize how that sounded, because she shook her head, retreating. “I mean, I want to help you. I like being with you. And— I like doing the things that make _me_ feel… better. But I know that’s— that’s _me_. I don’t _know_ what makes _you_ feel better. And… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sameen stumbled over the words with difficulty, carefully selecting and backtracking. Reselecting.

Root understood, even though Shaw was beating around the bush. She took Shaw’s chin in her hand, rougher than was strictly necessary, and turned Shaw’s face up to look at her. 

“I want _you_ ,” Root told her. She could see Sameen deliberating. Trying to determine what she should do next.

After a moment, Root got tired of waiting. Hoping it would drive her point home, she kissed Shaw again.

This time, Sameen didn’t stop her.


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter, later than promised but not as late as I've been before! I'm gonna call that a success.
> 
> Thank you all for coming back after I'd been gone for so long, and being so nice about the long wait! You're the best! :)
> 
> Enjoy this chapter! I've had parts of chapter sixty written for a very long time, so you're wait shouldn't be too bad despite my being horrendously busy.

_She wants me. Thank god she wants me._ Shaw did her best to stem the little noises that wanted to creep up and out of her throat when Root’s nails scraped over her scalp. _But_ why _does she want me?_ Her eyelids fluttered shut when Root’s mouth found her neck. Lips and teeth stoking the fire in Shaw’s gut. _What good am I to her?_

_I’m emotionally stunted. Selfish. I can’t help her._ Shaw was torn in two. She definitely didn’t want Root to stop, but she also didn’t think she deserved to feel this good about finally having Root’s body up against her again. _But she wants me. She wants_ me _. She wants_ this.

And Shaw? Shaw wanted to get under that faded tank top. Wanted to find comfort in the dark hair between Root’s legs.

So she let Root drag her out of the subway car. Let Root lead her to the cots, pausing only to tug Shaw’s bottom lip between her teeth. Let Root draw her down onto the unmade bed.

Shaw fell forward into the blankets and as soon as she’d caught her weight, her good hand snaked up under Root’s shirt. She pressed open-palmed against Root’s chest, relishing the way that Root pushed her soft breast up into Shaw’s clammy skin. She undressed Root, studying the delicate body in front of her as it was unveiled. Shaw soaked up the feeling Root gave her. Like she was complete.

_How did I get here_? It wasn’t the usual dismay and concern that had Shaw wondering. It was honest to god optimistic disbelief that she had found someone who made her feel… well, much of anything. Someone she wanted to be connected to. Someone that she missed when she was away.

Root misinterpreted Shaw’s contemplation as hesitation, and grabbed at Shaw’s clothes demandingly. She didn’t want Shaw to let her go, questioning again if this was what was best. If Shaw hadn’t been convinced that Root wanted this before, the action would have swayed her. But Shaw didn’t need convincing. Because she’d been thinking about this for days. Wanting this. Aching for this.

Shaw got up, standing at the foot of the cots to yank her clothes off unceremoniously, her cast catching on her shirt, reminding her, for the briefest second, of the last time she’d stood over Root and dropped her clothes on the floor in the subway, when she was left handcuffed and abandoned. The memory was erased, because this time, Root practically chased Shaw when she stood, kneeling on the end of the mattress and reaching out to keep Shaw right there. Root’s mouth was brutal against Shaw’s flesh, little pink marks dappled with red flecks spreading under the skin in Root’s wake.

Shaw soaked it up and returned the heat, but tenderly. Shaw’s hands were firm on Root’s hips, pressing her back onto the mattress so they were sitting face to face, Shaw’s knees straddling Root’s hips.

But while Shaw’s hands were strong, they weren’t forceful. She couldn’t bring herself to add a painful edge to her touch, even though she knew that Root liked it when she did. Root had been too stricken recently. It didn’t matter if Root _wanted_ the agonizing mix of pleasure and pain. Shaw couldn’t do it. Not now. Not on this night. She wasn’t even really sure why.

Despite being more or less on top of Root’s lap, Shaw let the taller woman stay in control of how things were going. When Root’s mouth found Shaw’s throat again, hand raking down Shaw’s stomach seeking the heat between the darker woman’s legs, Shaw did her best to keep up, returning the favor with her unbroken hand. But Root was insistent and Shaw was overly eager. It had been a long week and she was overcome with relief that Root’s outlook was improving, even if it was only the slightest amount. In no time, Sameen’s muscles were contracting on Root’s slim fingers, little grunts of pleasure escaping from between her grinding teeth. Her hand fumbled against Root’s body, struggling to support herself until Root’s free arm clutched them tight together, keeping Shaw stable as tremors rolled through her body. Shaw’s nose pressed against Root’s shoulder, panting hot air against the fair-skinned woman’s collar bone.

Shaw was a little surprised by herself, and lazily lifted her head to kiss Root. The smallest hint of a smile on Root’s face was enough to make Shaw’s heart pound faster, energy returning to her limbs although her brain was still slow. Rebooting.

She nudged Root, rearranging them until Root was on her back, craning to watch Shaw kiss down her chest and stomach.

For such an impatient, brute-force personality, Shaw certainly knew when it was worth taking her time. And for all of Shaw’s flaws, Root could never fault her for being inattentive. Least of all when it came to moments like this.

Shaw reveled in the guttural noise from Root when Shaw’s tongue first made contact. The thorough fingers of her unwounded hand joined her mouth while the hand in its cast reached up to run the tips of her fingers over Root’s peaked nipples.

When, quite some time later, Root grabbed a fistful of Shaw’s hair and told her with a breathless laugh that she couldn’t take anymore, Shaw’s smile bordered on impish, and she soothed Root with caressing hands on her way to curl into the taller woman’s side.

“Was that… was that really three?” She asked. She seemed happy to spoon up against Root’s side and fall asleep. Root exhaled in amusement, raising her eyebrows but still recovering. She nodded, grinning at how smug Shaw was. “Don’t think I’ve ever given anyone three orgasms in one go.”

“Don’t get too comfy, sweetie. As soon as my body is ready to do what I tell it to I’m gonna beat your record,” Root told her playfully. She could feel Shaw’s huff of amusement.

“Why am I not surprised?” Shaw asked.

——————————

The following morning (Root guessed it was probably morning, but it was hard to tell with no sunlight and without getting out of bed to find a clock) saw an abridged performance of the previous night’s activities. They took it in turns lavishing one another with attention, albeit with much less energy than the night before.

Root wanted to stay that way forever. Because Shaw knew how to make her feel like she was more than just surviving. Her senses were completely overloaded by the shorter woman. And because when they were sleeping together, Shaw could read her like a map. And because as long as Shaw’s head was between Root’s legs, it meant that she wasn’t off getting shot at by the latest villain in their unending story.

Root’s mouth hung open, gasping little breaths, and Shaw kept sending electric sparks through Root’s body until the taller woman pressed a hand to the side of Shaw’s face with a short whine. Her whole body was still sensitive and weak from the night before despite sleeping like the dead. Root guessed the weakness was probably a result of not eating enough, because Shaw seemed much more lively than Root felt.

The dark haired woman’s warm body slid up Root’s own, skin damp with sweat, and Root wrapped her arms around Shaw’s neck. Root licked her dry lips, her heart still racing, and Shaw kissed her. Deep and slow and it tasted like Root’s own body. She wondered idly how many other people had ever gotten to be with Shaw like this, kissing at the close of a sexual encounter instead of as an opening act. Shaw all dark-eyed and smiling with contentment when she broke that kiss, nosing her partner’s cheek so she could kiss a short path to their ear, relaxing like she was preparing for a nap, all of her weight heavily resting on top of the other person’s. It was amazing how such a simple thing could make Root feel so much better.

And then, Root knew too late that the three words she’d avoided days ago were going to escape. They came on too suddenly for her to do anything to stop them. She was too blissfully unencumbered, her body uncoiled like a spring released.

“I love you.”

The instant the strangled, breathless words left Root’s mouth, they brought her strength and confidence. She loved Shaw. So much that just those three words felt like the understatement of the century. And Root was sure, in that moment, that Shaw loved her. They were together and safe, and somehow things would be okay.

But just as quickly as Root began to shepherd in an imagined future, Shaw froze. And then, even worse, she recoiled. Root opened her eyes and was crushed. Shaw looked like she wanted to disappear into the mattress. The way most other people would shrink away from the barrel of a loaded gun.

As quickly as Root’s heart had lifted, it plummeted and she flushed, humiliated.

Shaw tried to recover from being startled, but not before Root had sat up, wriggled away from her, and started to slip out of the bed.

“Root…” Shaw said her name carefully.

Root couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t stand seeing her face and realizing how _alarmed_ she was. She couldn’t stay there with Shaw, who was taken by surprise by this news of a feeling that Root had convinced herself was mutual. She thought she might be sick, and didn’t want Shaw to see her fall apart. Again.

She moved away, starting to bend to gather clothes— any clothes, it didn’t matter whose, she just wanted to get out of the subway. Not for the first time, Root felt like the arched walls and ceilings of the dark, cold station were closing in on her. But now she had a reason to _go_. A reason to _leave_. A hand grabbed her arm from behind.

“ _Wait_ ,” Shaw said, stern. The heat of oncoming tears forced Root to shut her eyes. She could feel herself shaking, and hoped that Shaw didn’t notice. The shorter woman had stood up as well, and was now right beside her. Root could tell by the warmth of Sameen’s body just there, behind her.

And the closeness of the other woman reassured her.

Maybe it would be alright. Maybe it had just taken Shaw a second to process what Root had said, and now she could speak. Now she would respond in kind. Shaw _did_ love her.

Root heard the slow draw of breath.

“I’m a sociopath,” Shaw said finally. “I told you, I’m only going to disappoint you. No matter how much I learn to do the things you want me to do… noticing when there’s something wrong, being patient and— and talking. I can play along but…”

Root could picture Shaw’s lip tucked into her mouth when she hesitated. She didn’t need to open her eyes to look.

“It’s not the same, Root. I don’t know how to help even when I _do_ know you’re unhappy. Because I don’t feel things like you do. And I don’t know think I’ll ever be able to say… _that_ about _anyone_.”

A tear escaped, rolling down Root’s cheek, and she wiped it away, furiously ashamed. Shaw _did_ care. Root _knew_ that she did. Why else would she have given Root the Order of Lenin? Or told the dog to protect her? Why would she have broken her hand to run towards imminent danger? She _had_ to care.

“But if I _did_ …” Shaw had moved to stand in front of Root now. Root knew by the sound of her voice. But Root wouldn’t open her eyes. More tears ran down her face, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. “If I _could_ … _love_ someone…

Root could tell that just saying the word was hard for Shaw.

“It would be you. You know that,” Shaw said. The words were so small. Apologetic.

Root sniffed again and swiped at her eyes, opening them and seeing how earnest Shaw looked, tinged with impatience. Shaw was _Shaw_. This truly was more than Root should ever had hoped for.

Root wasn’t wrong to think that Shaw cared. She did. Undeniably.

In fact, as Sameen looked up at Root’s tear-stained face, she wished that she _could_ love Root. She knew that the other woman was hurt, and she knew that she didn’t like seeing Root this way, but she was pretty sure there was more to ‘love’ than wanting someone to stop being sad. Especially not when that desire for the person to cheer up was at least in part motivated by the desire to get back to having sex.

“I thought… when you left with John and Lionel… You said something in my ear,” Root said, flush with embarrassment. Shaw looked confused. She had no idea what Root was talking about. “You told me something. But you said it…”

Root gestured to her bad ear.

“I thought it was on purpose,” Root said, feeling stupid and embarrassed when Shaw’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I must’ve forgotten…” she started, shaking her head. Shaw reached up to rub behind her own ear, imagining the scar in the exact same place on Root. “I don’t know what I said.”

“I don’t know,” Shaw repeated when Root just kept looking at her with tears in her eyes. Shaw was saddened by the expression on Root’s face, but it also made her angry. “I _care_ , and— but even _that_ is…”

Shaw searched for the right words, stuttering, her brows furrowing as she shook her head in frustration.

“I don’t know how many times I can tell you that I don’t _feel_ that much. _This_ ,” she said, her gesture beginning just between them and then growing wider, to encompass the entirety of Harold’s subway station. “This is all a lot more than I’m usually capable of— of being a part of. I told you. I’ve told you _again_ and _again_. I’m not wired for this stuff.”

“But if you _do_ feel something, maybe you’ll keep growing. You just have to keep trying,” Root said. She didn’t want to let herself lose that hope. But Shaw looked even more frustrated now.

“I’m not a teenager going through some god damn _phase_ , Root.” Shaw’s anger was palpable, and Root felt like she was shrinking. Shaw seemed to realize that her harsh reaction had wounded Root, and the brunette watched Sameen’s jaw clench, trying to control her expression before continuing. Her whole face had tightened in anger. But she did her best to swallow it, and when she had contained her irritation, she tried to continue.

“I have a _personality disorder_. I’m not like you. And I’m never going to be what you want me to be,” Shaw warned. “If you're waiting around, expecting me to change, you’re wasting your time.”

Root breathed faster. Each gasp of air sucked in barely left time for an exhale.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Shaw said quietly, frowning. “I _knew_ it was better to be alone.”

Shaw knew that she was just going to keep hurting Root if they kept this up. She was always going to disappoint this woman. And in that moment, she didn’t see the point in continuing.

Root felt herself growing frantic. It was her turn to get angry now that she was facing Shaw’s apparent regret.

“Root—”

“Don’t. You don’t get to— you can’t do that,” Root said, knowing where this was going, her head shaking. She saw Shaw react— taken aback by the declaration from Root that she wasn’t _allowed_ to do what she thought was best. “I— Why do you just want to give up? Why won’t you fight for me?”

“I _do_ fight for you,” Shaw retorted angrily without hesitation, a snarl on her face. “Every. Single. Day.”

It wasn’t the first time that in the heat of an argument, Shaw had said something that said by someone else in another way would have been remarkably tender. And once again, had Sameen’s words not been so angry, like they’d been doused in kerosene and Shaw was striking a match, Root wouldn’t have found them appealing. Expecting Shaw to give some heartfelt confession of her undying love was like crossing your fingers and hoping that the tiger you’d lured into your living room didn’t tear the couch to shreds. But that made it impossible for Root to resist Shaw, and she knew she would always love the dark-haired woman. The thought that Shaw could rip Root to pieces if she wanted only made Root want her more.

“I’m not saying I don’t care. Because I do. More than I _ever_ expected to.” She quickly began to show how infuriated she was and paused again, huffing with annoyance before trying again. “I care about you. And about John. And Harold.”

She looked at her feet, wincing and shaking her head.

“After we lost him… when we went to kill Greer… I… _hurt_. And I wanted to be _with_ you. I— I wanted you to make me feel better. And I wanted to know that you were safe. I wanted to _keep you_ safe.” Shaw chewed on her lip. “So yeah Root, I care.”

Root could feel herself shivering, because it was cool in the station and because she felt so unsure of herself.

“I want to be with you,” Shaw said, and it was painfully sincere. “But I’m not going to say things just because you want to hear them. I’ll give you what I can but… If it’s not enough…”

She shrugged, shaking her head apologetically.

“It is,” Root said quickly, and Shaw winced like she didn’t believe her. “It will be.”

They kept on looking at one another.

“I don’t know what to do without him. And the Machine,” Root said. “I’m scared of losing you too.”

Shaw shook her head again, smaller this time.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” she told Root quietly.

Shaw and Root stared at one another, less than an arm’s length apart, until Shaw’s phone started to vibrate. She looked away from Root and picked it up, seeing the name. When she answered the call, she gave Root an apologetic look.

“What do you need, Lionel?” she asked.

“You seen John recently?” he asked in return. Shaw’s brow furrowed.

“Not since we got back,” she told him.

“He’s not answering when I call and he hasn’t shown up to work,” Fusco told her. Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Did you check his apartment?” she asked, impatient.

“Where do you think I’m standing right now? No sign of him. Just a whole lot of empty bottles layin’ around,” Fusco said. “I’ve been waiting around for almost an hour and he hasn’t shown up. A neighbor says she hadn’t seen him since yesterday, and if he doesn’t give the captain a heads up he’s gonna get fired real soon. I told her there was a death in the family, but he’s gotta come back to work. She’s gettin’ real tired of not hearing from him.”

Shaw realized that he meant John hadn’t shown up to work _at all_ and shook her head, thinking of the flowers.

“I think I might know where he is. I’ll let you know,” Shaw said, hanging up without any more warning. She flipped through her phone’s contacts.

“What’s wrong?” Root asked.

“Fusco’s worried about John,” she explained, avoiding eye contact as she searched for Zoe Morgan in her phone. “Says he hasn’t seen him.”

She listened as the phone rang, and eventually the call was picked up.

“Shaw,” Zoe said simply by way of greeting. “My guy’s getting a little antsy. Are you going to come get our friend soon, or…?”

“John _is_ with you,” Shaw said, relieved. She shook her head, still frustrated that Fusco had called her. “Just like I thought.”

“No,” Zoe said the word slowly. Hesitantly. Then, like an apology, she continued. “I was talking about Harold.”

Shaw didn’t know what to say. She’d been sorting out Gen’s schooling and had met with lawyers about Finch’s will, but she had thought that John would want to take care of the funeral arrangements.

“I thought one of you would have come to get him by now,” Zoe said when Shaw didn’t reply.

“You haven’t seen John?” Shaw asked.

“No,” Zoe said, as though that was a stupid question.

“Since you sent him flowers, I figured he was—”

“Flowers?” Zoe asked, balking a little. “What flowers?”

Shaw froze, the phone gripped tight in her hand.

“You didn’t send them,” Shaw stated. She didn’t need to ask.

“That’s… really _not_ the kind of relationship that we have,” Zoe’s voice edged on teasing. Shaw’s mind was racing at two hundred miles a minute.

“No one has seen him. He’s not at his apartment.” Shaw said, trying to pick up her shoes with her broken hand and struggling. She had to go and look for him.

“Shaw, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s an independent guy,” Zoe said. She didn’t sound all that worried, and it made Sameen’s blood boil. Why wasn’t Zoe concerned about him? Didn’t she know how dangerous John could be? How much danger he could _put himself_ in?

“He’s not _fine_ , he’s _mourning_ ,” Shaw told Zoe. “Do you know where he could’ve gone?”

“Like I said— that’s not our relationship,” Zoe said, losing her patience.

“I guess it’s too much to ask you just to _think_ about where he could be,” Shaw snarled.

“Shaw—” Zoe started to make an excuse, and Shaw interrupted her.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it myself,” she snapped, hanging up the phone. Root followed Shaw’s lead, starting to dress while Shaw tore her own clothes on in a rush, shoved the phone into her pocket, and hurriedly pulled on her boots with her unbroken hand.

“I have to go,” she told Root, grabbing her jacket off of one of the chairs.

“Where?” Root asked, confused by the sudden anger in Shaw. It had come out of the blue, without any apparent reason.

“To find John,” Shaw said as she went to the locker and found the little handgun that she favored, tucking it into the back of her waistband.

“Where is he?” Root asked. Shaw was already heading up the stairs.

“I don’t know yet, Root,” she snapped. Then with a brief, dark-eyed glance back at the woman standing by the bed, she added, “I’ll be back later. Promise.”

Shaw knew that the first place to look for some clue as to John’s whereabouts was his place, so she quickly headed that direction. She was walking so fast that she could feel a dull throb in her hand with each step that she took, reminding her again of the day that Finch had been shot. She couldn’t bring herself to ask the Machine for help. She’d done a good job of avoiding letting that voice get into her head, and she didn’t intend to start now. Not until she’d seen if there was some hint as to where John had gone.

Shaw could hear noise coming from inside of the apartment, and drew her gun. She hoped that it was John, but she thought that was wishful thinking.

When she flung the door open, her heart sank. The man standing in the middle of the living room wasn’t John Reese.

——————————

Root thought about following Shaw, but after their last conversation, she knew she should just let Shaw go. Especially when that last comment had shown that even running out the door in a hurry, Shaw knew that Root needed to hear that she wasn’t disappearing permanently.

So instead of following the shorter woman up onto the street, she slowly finished dressing. When she’d finished, she walked towards the subway car and paused in the doorway, looking in at the dark, vacant monitors.

“I know you’re not speaking to me anymore,” Root said softly. She paused, feeling stupid for trying to talk to the Machine when She had clearly forgotten about or discarded Root. But she had to ask. She couldn’t help herself. “Did you hear? What Sameen said to me? The day that she left?”

There was no reply. No words spoken into Root’s ear. No reassurance that Root had even been heard.

The crush of disappointment descended on Root. She had been left behind again.

And then Harold’s computer lit up, and a window popped up. In it, an audio file appeared, waiting for Root to hit play.

Her heart caught in her throat. The Machine _was_ listening. And She _had_ heard Shaw, even when Root couldn’t.

With a shaking hand, Root crossed to the desk, reached out for the mouse and let the pointer hover over the play button for a moment before she clicked it.

“ _We’ll be in the stairwell._ ” It was Reese’s gravelly voice that Root heard. Then nothing but the shaking rustle of static. _No. Not static_ , Root realized. It was her own rapid, uneven breathing that she was hearing recorded and played back.

An additional rustling occurred, and then, muffled and soft but audible, Shaw’s voice.

“ _Stay safe_.” It had the airy texture of a whisper, but the words weren’t hard to make out.

And those two words didn’t change anything. They didn’t reveal anything more about Shaw’s feelings. There was no promise that she’d be back soon. No declaration of love.

Maybe, had she heard it at the time, Root would have thought that it meant that Shaw knew she was hurting Root. Or that she hadn’t completely given up on caring about Root. That, perhaps, she still _trusted_ Root. And feeling either thing, remorse _or_ forgiveness, was more than Shaw would have been able to give once upon a time. But it wasn’t what Root had thought it might be. Or hoped for.

What was more important about this moment, standing in front of the computer listening to a two week old conversation, was that Root knew the Machine was still there with her. She wasn’t _speaking_ to Root, but She also hadn’t completely abandoned her.

Root felt like her knees were going to give out, and lowered herself unsteadily into Harold’s desk chair. She tried to keep breathing through tears that had returned to her eyes. She wanted, absurdly, to reach out and touch the computer monitor. Run her fingers along the wires behind Finch’s rig. She wished she could hold onto the Machine so that She couldn’t slip into silence, turning her attention elsewhere. But there was nothing to hold onto to keep Her there, and Root couldn’t be sure that She hadn’t already gone.

“I miss you,” she admitted aloud. Her voice was quiet. Shaky. She felt embarrassed, and hoped that the Machine _had_ left so that She didn’t hear the confession. It was a stupid thing to hope for— the Machine saw _everything_. On the screen, words appeared.

“ _I have missed you too._ ”

Root sat forward, and didn’t fight the urge to reach out to touch the words before they disappeared. Before she’d made contact, they were replaced by a new phrase.

“ _I am sorry that I left you._ ”

“ _It was not safe for you to go to London, and you would not listen to me._ ”

The Machine’s words were not unkind, but Root knew that she was being scolded. It didn’t matter though, she just wanted Her to keep on communicating with her.

“Wait,” she pleaded when the screen went dark again. “Please don’t leave.”

She was begging, fingers curling into fists as she filled with despair. Her heart hammered in her chest, quickening along with her breathing. She could feel panic creeping up on her. But it was interrupted by new words appearing on screen.

“ _I am here_.”

——————————

“What are you doing here?” Shaw snarled, taking a step into John’s apartment and leveling her gun at Carl Elias. He held his hands out to show her that one held an empty glass bottle while with the other, he held open a large black plastic bag. He was clearing the coffee table of trash. She furrowed her brow in confusion.

“I never received a thank you for the flowers. Wanted to check in,” Elias said with a sarcastic smirk. “Besides, I thought you might be heading this way. I heard that Detective Fusco came by earlier and sounded the alarm that John was missing.”

He dropped the bottle into the trash bag with a clink, then bent to pick up another, apparently unconcerned about having a gun pointed at him.

“What’d you do to him?” Shaw asked. He looked back at her, unimpressed.

“What makes you think I did something to him?” he asked.

“Besides breaking into his apartment and cleaning the place right as we figure out he’s gone?” Shaw asked back, snide.

“Like I said, I was waiting for one of you to come back,” he said. One of his men emerged from what Shaw assumed was the bedroom. He too had a trash bag, and Elias cleared the remaining trash from the table, then held it out to his man. The guy eyed Shaw while he tied off the bags. “Take this to the dumpster. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Shaw watched Elias’ goon leave, then turned back to Elias. He’d gone to the windows and was looking out at the city street. Shaw let her gun hand drop some. He didn’t look like he was planning on attacking. Instead, he seemed tired.

“When I saw how filthy the place was, I thought I might as well tidy up while I waited for you,” Elias said. It was like this was all normal to him. Like there was nothing at all unusual about him being there, playing housekeeper.

“How’d you know where John’s apartment was?” Shaw asked, following him towards the windows. He turned to smirk at her when she got close.

“I wouldn’t be the best if I didn’t keep tabs on people of significance to my interests,” he said. “I know where your old apartment is too, Sameen. Although I admit, I’m not sure where you’re staying now.”

“You’ve been following us.” The thought made Shaw mad, particularly because she hadn’t noticed anyone tailing her.

“I know Detective Fusco is already back at work and has gone out of his way to spend time with his son,” Elias said, nodding. “I know that _you_ have been visiting lawyers and are in the habit of going to Chinatown and vanishing into thin air.”

He looked out the window again. Shaw was glad he didn’t seem to have found the subway station.

“And I know that John has been here drowning his sorrows since he got back to the city. Well, not the whole time. He leaves to buy more alcohol. And he sat outside of Detective Carter’s home for an evening, watching her son and his father eat dinner and watch television together. That was a little surreal— sending someone to _watch_ John while he _watched_ Joss’s family _watch_ television,” he shook his head. “I know that they say that escapism isn’t healthy, but I don’t buy that. John should get a TV. At least it would mean he was safe at home instead of stumbling in the streets at night with the first bottle he saw when he walked into the liquor store.”

“You know where Reese is,” Shaw stated, cutting off his rambling. If Elias had been keeping tabs on them, that would make this all a lot easier. And if John was doing as poorly as Elias made it sound, Shaw wanted to find him as soon as possible.

“He left here last night and gave my guy the slip. Hasn’t been back since,” the man said. Shaw scowled.

“You just let him disappear. That seemed like the _right_ thing to do to you.” Anger took hold of her. It was easier to be mad at Elias than concerned for John’s safety.

“I don’t claim to know about right and wrong,” Elias told her. They stared one another down until Elias grew bored with that and turned to look out the window of John’s apartment once more. “But I know about loyalty. Friendship.”

Something about him seemed different. Like an animal hit with a tranquilizer— wide awake but docile.

“John is not your friend,” she said. The gang boss smiled at the building across the street, but it was tinged with disappointment.

“Well, you know the old adage— keep your friends close. And your enemies…” he began, the pitch of his voice rising as he trailed off, his smile widening strangely.

Shaw didn’t like being alone with Elias. The air seemed too still.

“Besides,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing sadly when he turned to her. “I wasn’t talking about John.”

Shaw remembered that he’d lost his right hand man, Anthony. The man with the scar who Shaw heard had pretended to be a cop back in the day. She also thought about what John had told her once— that while Elias was in prison, Finch had played chess with him more than once. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps Carl Elias was mourning the loss of Finch too. That maybe they were closer to being on the same side than she gave him credit for. 

By the time that Shaw started to understand, Elias had walked away and had one hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he told her. “If you need help, you know where to find me.”

She stared at him hard, swallowing once, then again to keep from revealing how much she appreciated what little information and support he had to give. Then he was gone, and she was left to look through Reese’s empty apartment.

She glanced around but didn’t see anything that would tell her where John might have gone, and then went out onto the street, hoping that Elias might still be there. She knew he’d been being honest about not knowing where John was, but now that she realized they were after the same thing, she wanted to see the mob boss. But he had left, of course. And Shaw was alone.

A moment of frantic desperation washed over Shaw as she tried to think of what to do next. Then it occurred to her what she was going to have to do. She had to ask for help.

She looked up.

She found what she was looking for at the end of the block, and went to stand beneath it. 

“You want to talk to me? Now’s your chance,” Shaw said commandingly, looking at the lens of the camera affixed to a pole on the street corner. She waited for a response. Above her head, the sky was filled with tufts of white clouds, cotton-candy wisps floating in surreal blue. New York’s high rises reached up towards them, but didn’t come close to touching them. It made Shaw feel very small and lonely, but she knew that the Machine had to be listening. It was always there, watching. “I know you know where John is.”

There was no reply. Shaw felt the anxiety rising in her. Equal parts concern and anger. Why wasn’t the Machine chirping in her ear?

_Where are you?_ She was thinking of the Machine and of John all at once, and getting angrier by the millisecond.

She hated the Machine for only talking to her when it was _convenient_. They all put their lives on the line for this artificial intelligence. Harold was _dead_ because of the Machine. Root was a paper doll version of herself after giving almost _everything_ and having it _all_ taken away. And now John was _missing_ , and there was no voice in Shaw’s ear offering her any help.

“You don’t get to treat us like this,” Shaw said, her eyes burning. _God damn it_. “Even if you don’t care about _us_ , I know you care about _yourself_.”

Shaw hated that the words she was saying to the Machine reminded her of herself. The selfishness that she’d spent the last week struggling with. If the Machine had been a solid person, she would’ve punched them in the teeth right about now. Because Shaw knew that, like herself, the Machine did care. It wasn’t just some computer parroting binary that Finch had fed to it. It was more than the sum of its parts.

“We’re _it_. Me, Root, John, Fusco, and Bear,” Shaw said. She shook her head emphatically. “We’re all you’ve got now.”

Still nothing.

“So we need John,” Shaw kept on speaking, glad that unlike when Root got upset, Shaw’s desperation came across as being royally pissed off. “Tell me where he is. I need to find him.”

_Need?_ It was a strange word for Shaw to apply to a person. But that didn’t make it incorrect, she realized.

_I need him._

_I can’t lose him._

She opened her mouth, ready to curse the Machine for being useless. Ready to compare it to Samaritan. Ready to do damage to the artificial super-intelligence the only way she could think of— with words.

And then the Machine spoke.

“Asset located.”


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, everybody! The last chapter! Thanks for reading and commenting and leaving kudos and just generally putting up with my posts being wildly unreliable!
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long. It's extremely hard to make sure you're covering all of your bases in ending a story that's this long. I hope you're all satisfied by this! If you're not, I'm sorry about that too? :P
> 
> I do have a couple short stories partially written that I'd like to share with you all soon, so hopefully despite the show ending you'll stick around for a bit.
> 
> Enjoy!

Shaw looked out across the park. It took her a minute to spot the figure she was searching for. He was sitting alone, a brown paper bag in one of his hands. She approached through the sparse population of dog walkers, runners, tourists, suits eating their lunches. Without a word, she sat down on the bench half an arms length from him, careful not to sit so close that they were touching. It wasn’t easy deciding what to say, so she followed his gaze out across the grass, where spring flowers dotted the landscape and mothers carried their children’s unneeded coats. In their midst, a woman with red hair was painting a picture of the pond below. Grace Hendricks. Finch’s fiancée.

“Didn’t know she was back in the city,” Shaw said finally, giving her seat-mate a sidelong look. He looked awful. Worse than the last time she’d seen him. She wondered if he’d slept. He definitely hadn’t shaved, his rumpled brown jacket was borderline grungy, and the paper bag clenched in his fist was shaped suspiciously like a bottle.

Her seat-mate’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. It wasn’t enough to hide the moisture there. With an apologetic shake of her head, she asked, “John. Why’re you watching Grace?”

He lifted the disguised bottle and took a swig before replying.

“I thought it would make me feel… closer to him,” the reply came slowly, his voice low and dark. Something stirred in Shaw. She felt empathy for Reese, she realized, and wished simultaneously that the feelings would go away and that she could somehow comfort John.

“How’d you find me?” he mumbled, glancing over at her without turning. Shaw tapped her ear and his eyebrows raised in dismay. “Thought you didn’t like having the Machine in your ear.”

“I don’t,” she told him, pursing her lips. “But nobody’s seen you. And you weren’t at your apartment or answering your phone.”

He turned back towards Grace. Shaw regretted how terse her words were, and leaned forward a touch to try to see his face better. She could see that he was looking her direction out of the corner of his narrowed eyes, and the paper bag crinkled between his fingers.

“You figured that was an invitation to hunt me down?” Reese asked, turning toward her again, returning her irritation. Shaw hated the way that grief made him look. Older. Defeated. She glanced at her hands, then out across the park towards the red-haired woman so that she didn’t have to be confronted by his expression. When she finally made herself look back at John, he had followed her gaze, and was watching Grace almost longingly.

“You can’t talk to her,” Shaw said quietly. Apologetic.

John was very still.

“She already lost Harold once,” she continued, shaking her head. He wouldn’t look over at her, but she could see his eyes shining, and she did her best to sound gentle. “She doesn’t need to lose him again.”

John’s head quickly dipped forward, his face scrunching up as he sniffed hard, his mouth a grimace. Shaw was surprised by the sudden, strong urge to reach out to him, but tugged at the edge of the padding of her cast instead.

“I feel…” he started. Slowly he glanced Shaw’s direction, then looked back out at Finch’s one-time fiancée, giving a minute shake of his head. “Helpless. Lonely.”

Shaw knew what she wanted to say, _needed_ to say, but was having trouble getting the words to form. So she focused on her hands again, pulling loose a thread from the interior layer of the cast. She dropped the piece of string between her knees, summoned all of her strength and courage, then cleared her throat.

“Me too,” she admitted. She could sense his entire body going rigid and forced herself to look to her right, absorbing his expression. His lips were pressed together so tightly that they were white, and his eyes were full to the brim with tears. He blinked to try to clear them, then rubbed at them with the thumb and pointer finger of his empty hand. He coughed, and Sameen could tell he was trying his hardest not to let a sob escape. She ground her teeth as she felt the burn of tears in her own eyes, then willed herself to reach out and rest her good hand on his forearm.

The action was stiff. Robotic.

Her voice, on the other hand, was reassuring and calm when she spoke, and it sounded odd to her own ears.

“But… we’re not alone.” She watched him look at her hand, then at his own, holding the bottle tight.

He seemed like he had suddenly realized where he was and what he was doing. When he looked up, they accidentally made eye contact and quickly looked away from one another, out across the park. She removed her hand from his arm. In that brief moment, he had looked grateful.

“And we’re _definitely not_ helpless,” she continued, her usual sarcasm returned.

When she surreptitiously glanced his way again, she saw that he was smiling a little. Not much, but enough to give her a sense of relief. He was still Reese. And she was still Shaw.

She stood.

“C’mon,” she said, turning away from him like she was going to walk away whether he decided to join her or not.

“Where’re we going?” He murmured.

“Your place,” she told him, as if it was a stupid question. “You’re gonna take a shower and then we’re gonna get Fusco to bring us some lunch. I haven’t eaten all day.”

He stood up and when Shaw caught him swaying out of the corner of her eye, she turned to watch him find his balance. John looked like he might be sick, swallowing hard and pressing his eyes shut. Shaw wondered how much he’d had to drink. He pulled at his sleeve so he could see his wristwatch.

“It’s not even 11am,” he said, bemused that she was qualifying that as having gone ‘all day’ without food.

“Yeah, and you’re already trashed,” she said quietly, annoyed. She was glad that it didn’t seem like he’d heard.

He found his footing and lifted the bottle to his mouth. When he lowered it again, she put her hand out towards him, and when he looked confused, she nodded at the paper bag. He handed it over and she took a swig. Vodka hit her tongue, warm and bitter. Silently, he extended a hand for her to give it back. Instead of returning it, she tossed it into a trash can.

“Careful, Shaw. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were worried about me,” Reese teased, but there was a little menace in his stare. Shaw cocked an eyebrow, looking up at him challengingly.

“Well, John, if _I_ didn’t know any better, I’d say that you _need_ someone worrying about you. Because the whole ‘getting drunk in the park’ thing? It’s pretty pathetic, and it’s not happening again,” she replied. If he was going to be snide, she could throw it right back. But even Shaw knew that she had spoken with unnecessary bite.

He was annoyed with her, and started to walk off, leaving her to follow him. She rolled her eyes at his back, feeling embarrassed that she couldn’t have a five minute conversation without losing her temper and saying something mean. Plus, she knew _why_ he was having a hard time. She matched his steps, slowed by the alcohol in his system.

“Look. I get it,” she said. He pointedly ignored her. “If it wasn’t for Root…”

She hesitated. If it wasn’t for Root, she would be lucky if she was there with John, getting wasted, instead of starting fist fights or worse with strangers in bars. But she didn’t want to give him any ideas, so she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she pushed on, wincing.

“A friend of mine told me something once. Something I didn’t know I needed to hear,” she said, eyes narrowing to hide how out of her element she felt. She could feel him looking towards her, but she kept her eyes on the pedestrians ahead of her as she walked. “Said that… with our jobs, we walk in the dark.”

She looked his way in time to watch John’s eyes drop from her face as she paraphrased the words that he had once told her.

“But… that doesn’t mean we have to walk alone,” she finished, shaking her head. She watched his jaw flex, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Thought you didn’t have friends. As a rule,” John joked, clearing his throat to get rid of the slight wobble in his voice, like he was barely stopping himself from crying. Shaw had to admit that she appreciated his avoiding being particularly touchy-feely about the whole thing. The smile on her face was smug.

“That’s true,” she said, a smirk in her voice. Then, conspiratorially, she leaned his direction. “But we both know that rules are made to be broken.”

They walked in silence for a while, and for once, Shaw didn’t mind that the person she was walking with was slow, practically strolling along the streets of New York. For once, they didn’t need to hurry. There was no one to hunt for or run from. 

When they neared his building, he paused and looked into the liquor store a block from his place. Shaw kept walking, and he quickly caught up, shoving his empty hands into his pockets glumly.

“How’s she doing?” John asked softly. He didn’t need to say who he meant. Shaw knew he was asking about Root, and that he was giving Shaw an opening to talk about herself if she wanted to. At any other time, it would’ve been an overly personal question and Shaw would’ve snorted a laugh at him condescendingly. But not today.

“She uh… she’s taking it hard,” Shaw told him. He looked at her, sympathetic and curious. They’d reached the door of his building, and he fumbled with his keys. The door unlatched and he swung it open so that Shaw was looking in at the entryway to his building for the second time that day. He started up the stairs, and she took the opportunity to speak while he had his back turned. “She says she loves me.”

Shaw didn’t know what on earth had compelled her to tell him. Maybe she was hoping he’d tell her what she was supposed to do: leave, break things off, pretend it hadn’t happened, lie and tell Root she felt the same way? Maybe it was also a half-assed excuse for not having checked up on him sooner.

He paused for a second before he kept on walking up the steps. He knew better than to turn to face her.

“D’you—”

“No,” she cut off his question. “I don’t even know what the hell that would feel like.”

He was carefully avoiding looking at her as they walked to his apartment. She knew that he was trying to give her space to say as much or as little as she wanted, and she appreciated it. She honestly felt embarrassed that she hadn’t let him finish asking.

“So… what now?” He asked. Her brow furrowed in frustration.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” she told him.

“If you’re asking me for help with your relationship, you must be pretty desperate,” he said. It was a half-joke, poking fun at both of them.

 _Well aren’t we just a pair of fuck-ups_.

He let them into his apartment and looked around, confused.

“Did you… clean my apartment?” he asked, turning to look at Shaw.

“Elias,” she said, shaking her head. His face shifted into dismay and annoyance. She joked, “Told you you’re not alone.”

She tried to make it light-hearted, but she could tell he was wary now that he realized he’d been being watched without ever picking up on it.

“Where’s Bear?” he asked, concerned. He walked into the kitchen and put a hand on the counter for balance. “His bowl and food are gone…”

He looked back at her like this had hit him as another heavy loss.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Go shower,” she told him, pointing towards his bedroom and sitting down on his couch. She didn’t want him to think about that for the time being, even though she herself wanted to sucker punch him for letting Elias take the dog. “What d’you want to eat?”

He gave a noncommittal answer and offered her a strained smile before he retreated into his bedroom and shut the door.

Now that she was alone, Sameen couldn’t stop thinking about Root and the talk they’d had earlier. Argument? Discussion? Conversation?

Shaw had really only ever given herself one guide to live by: she didn’t _do_ relationships. And she had her reasons.

It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to have to check in with the same person all the time. Or that she found it annoying, wasting time figuring out how to keep someone other than herself happy. Sure, that was exhausting and seemed damn near impossible, but it wasn’t the only thing that kept Shaw from letting herself get seriously involved with anyone.

It was also that once they got past that initial stage of mutual attraction and constant thirst for one another, her partners settled into something that was subdued, for lack of a better word. Every last one of the people Shaw had been involved with for too long seemed to calm after a while. If anything close to a ‘relationship’ started to take shape, they eventually wanted this other thing. This quiet affection. Yeah, they still wanted to have sex, but it was less frequent. It was the punctuation in the time they spent together, when at first it had been the whole conversation. And that was somehow supposed to be _comfortable_.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to stick it out before.

When she was a sophomore in college, there had been Jonathan. After half a dozen late night hook-ups, he invited her over to watch some movie that he just _couldn’t_ believe she hadn’t seen. She showed up to his dorm room in a tank top that showed enough skin that her mother would’ve cried, and Jonathan was beyond excited about this bizarro French film on VHS that he was ‘so glad his film prof let him borrow’. Sameen knew immediately that she’d made a mistake. Forty minutes in, she had no grasp of the plot and was getting increasingly antsy and annoyed. She decided it was time to do something so that she didn’t just storm out on him. He was hot in a generic white kid from a prep school kind of way, and… nice? She didn’t know or care, honestly.

So she started edging into his space. Even when Shaw gave up on running her fingers along his thighs through his acid wash jeans and tried a more direct approach, leaning in to nip at his throat and get his attention, groping him through his denim, his eyes stayed glued to the subtitles on screen. And when she slung one leg over his lap, he craned to see past her and pointed at the television enthusiastically. “You’re gonna miss the best part.” She sank back to sit beside him. ‘ _Yeah, I fucking noticed_.’ The words echoed around inside her skull, but she held out hope that once she’d survived this ordeal, they’d have sex and then she could go back to her dorm and never see Jonathan’s dumb ass again. One hundred and twenty two minutes of obtuse symbolism that was lost on Shaw later, and she was barely in the mood to get his hands down her pants anymore. Worse than that, the guy just wanted to _talk about the movie_. Jonathan wanted long hours spent cuddling and chatting on his extra-long twin bed, and she wanted quite literally anything else. She started showing up to class late or skipping it altogether to avoid running into him in the lecture hall where they had back to back classes.

Later, there had been Cedric. They met a few months into medical school, in the same gym where Shaw watched Elaine running on the treadmill. She’d caught Cedric checking Elaine out, or maybe he’d caught Shaw doing the same. She couldn’t remember anymore. Not that it mattered. Shaw had been trying to pinpoint why Elaine looked so familiar (and wondering if she’d be up for having sex with a woman) when Cedric asked if Shaw would spot him while he lifted. He was handsome, so dark-skinned that Shaw’s genetics looked vanilla by comparison, could bench press more than double Shaw’s body weight no problem, and had a smug grin that made Shaw’s insides turn to liquid. They worked out together that day at the gym, then later in _other_ ways at her apartment. It was exciting to feel like he could throw her around a little. He was always holding back, worried he’d hurt her despite her constant reassurances that she could take it, but sleeping with him was fun.

Almost two months passed. One afternoon they were running in the park side by side, and Shaw was thinking about how much more she enjoyed making him pant when they were alone than when they were in mile five of a jog that would leave him too tired to want to engage in her _preferred_ cardio when they were done. It wasn’t that she disliked running. She also didn’t dislike _him_. She just liked being by herself more. If they weren’t going to get naked she didn’t see the appeal of spending her limited free time with another person. He paused for a moment to stop a kid’s soccer ball with his toe before it went rolling into a lake, then caught back up to her on the running path. The next thing Shaw knew, he was asking between heavy exhales if she’d ever thought about having kids. And just like that, Shaw went from ‘not that interested’ to wanting to turn and run the other direction. She wondered if it was possible to transfer to another university in medical school.

Years later, while she was working with the ISA, there had been Mateo. She’d always had a thing for the brooding, vaguely European guys. They would meet up when she was in New York, and the first few times she’d put on a slinky dress, he’d take her dancing or to some fancy restaurant, then back to his loft apartment where she’d jump his bones. But eventually, he decided they should cook dinner instead of going out. She liked eating, but didn’t get why Mateo wanted to _cook_. She’d hoped it meant that there would be less talking than their usual get-togethers and more nudity. But no. He wanted to ‘get to know her.’ It drove Shaw up the wall.

She would much rather live their separate lives and meet up after dark, fucking like jackrabbits or playing drawn-out games. Handcuffs and blindfolds. Cat and mouse. When Mateo worked with a paring knife cutting up a god damn heirloom tomato, Shaw busied herself wondering if those hands might ever consider wielding the same blade in bed. It wasn’t something she’d thought she was into before, but suddenly it seemed incredibly appealing because that, at least, would be exciting. She wanted to be surprised. Wanted to have to guess what her partner might do next. As it turned out, what _Mateo_ would do next was serve her under-seasoned fish and a spinach salad, followed by the proposal that they go on a trip to Vermont for the weekend, where his family had stayed at a bed and breakfast once. Shaw was relieved when she got a call saying she had an assignment that would take her out of the country. When she asked how long she’d be gone, she was told, as always, that she’d be away for as long as it took to find and eliminate the target. She went to work and never called Mateo again.

The problem, of course, was that Shaw didn’t feel things the way that other people did. She’d read about how it was supposed to work. That it was normal to start a relationship in top gear, completely infatuated with another person, and then, over time, find a steady rhythm and shift to a comfortable companionship. Everything Shaw found tried to reassure readers that both stages qualified as ‘love,’ whatever that was supposed to mean. And everyone Shaw saw more than a handful of times started to follow the pattern. But Shaw _didn’t_. She guessed that not being able to think about someone without wanting to fuck them counted as being infatuated, but she had _never_ ‘settled’ into calmly enjoying simply being around another person. Instead, she got bored and broke things off, leaving with zero heartache or sadness. At this point, she could tell before it happened if a guy she’d been seeing would try to woo her back with one last roll in the hay. She usually took them up on the offer, but those final moments were a shadow of their first times together. They were too earnest. Too eager, trying to do all of the things that they thought she liked best as if she might change her mind. It wound up being uninspired and off-putting, leaving whatever ‘relationship’ they had on an unimpressive note.

Shaw then thought of Elaine, the woman that Root had been something like jealous of. That fact alone made Sameen want to roll her eyes. Although Elaine hadn’t ‘settled down’ the same way others had, there had still been some gross miscommunication about what their interactions amounted to. It had started when Shaw finally gave up on avoiding the gym (and Cedric), and had started taking a boxing class. After class, she and another student decided to spar. They had been unevenly matched. Shaw kicked the girl’s ass repeatedly and continuously until she was distracted by someone on a treadmill. Blonde pony tail swishing with each step she took. Elaine. Shaw once again tried to put her finger on where she knew the girl from, and stole glances at the blonde while she fought with her partner. She caught a nasty, cheap punch to the ear when she turned to watch Elaine get off the equipment, and Shaw struck back hard, pummeling the other girl until she was flat on her back. Sameen called it a day while her sparring partner got up slowly, spitting angry insults at her. Elaine looked up at the sound of the worked up voice, and Shaw had smirked at her when they made eye contact.

It took a while for Shaw to make anything happen with Elaine. It always seemed like their schedules barely overlapped, and while Elaine moved fluidly through their class’s social circles, Shaw remained well outside of every last one of them. But when she was assigned a group for a project that included one of Elaine’s good friends, Shaw put in a modest amount of effort to be something other than surly and went to a party at the guy’s apartment when invited. Success. Elaine was there, cutting loose after their latest exam. Shaw had gotten the blonde girl a drink, expecting it to be a challenge to convince Elaine that they should meet up sometime and fuck. Turns out Elaine didn’t need much convincing at all. They slept together the same night.

Sex with Elaine was as good as Shaw had imagined it would be. Their schedules for working in clinic or in lab were perpetually out of sync, which was perfect by Shaw’s standards. Sameen would stay up waiting for a call from Elaine, they’d meet at one of their apartments, have sex, and then go their separate ways. When Thanksgiving rolled around and Elaine called Shaw up at home, it didn’t mean anything in Shaw’s mind. Sameen had been spending a lot of her vacation with her mom, who was determined to be unhappy. “These Americans don’t _want_ us celebrating their holiday,” and “maybe if your father was still alive I would care.” Getting naked with Elaine sounded pretty damn appealing. And when her mom heard something coming from Sameen’s room, walked in on them, and found her straight-A-student daughter thrusting a strap-on into her very white, very female sexual partner? Things sort of fell apart. More than anything, Shaw was annoyed. She casually tossed Elaine her bra, grabbed her own clothes off the floor, and clumsily tugged her pants up over the dildo bobbing in its harness at her pelvis. She didn’t even care for the damn thing. She much preferred using her mouth and fingers so that she could feel the incredible way that the blonde’s body responded to her— being with a woman was different, new, and exciting. But Elaine liked the strap-on, and had wanted to see Shaw because she was having a rough holiday. Plus, Shaw definitely didn’t mind the little noises Elaine made whenever they used it.

All the while her mom was crying and yelling and hitting at Sameen ineffectively. Shaw stayed stoic and all but ignored her mother, even when the older woman’s open palm connected with her cheek with a loud crack. She simply brushed her mom away from Elaine when she grabbed for the blonde’s arm, screaming at her for corrupting Sameen.

To top it all off, Elaine had gotten upset later because Shaw had just shown her to the front door without saying anything, her mother bawling at them both to get out. It wasn’t worth making her mom have a meltdown just to fuck in her childhood bedroom. So she didn’t call Elaine for the rest of the long weekend, and the one time that they met when they were back at school had been stilted and awkward. As best as Shaw could figure, Elaine was mad because Shaw stayed impassive throughout the whole thing. Didn’t stand up to her mom and defend Elaine or herself. Shaw probably shouldn’t have laughed at that, she just didn’t get the point of making it into a bigger deal than it needed to be. It was her _mother_ , it wasn’t like she was going to hit the woman back. And she and her mom had been down this road before. Her mother had told her time and again that she hated how little her daughter could give emotionally, and Shaw didn’t know what to tell her so she didn’t say anything at all.

Anyway. Yeah, Shaw knew herself. And she had been pretty sure that she knew Root too. Sameen had figured that Root shared some of her boredom with routine, although she couldn’t be sure because she’d never asked Root about her past relationships. It was just another topic that Shaw wished she’d thought to recognize as important. Why hadn’t she ever asked Root about herself?

Regardless, it was pretty clear to Shaw that neither of them would be good at a ‘relationship’ in the traditional sense of the word. And now, Root was saying that she _loved_ her.

 _Shit_. Sameen knew how much easier it would be to cut and run. That was what she’d done every time someone started expecting more from her than she wanted to give. Every time she’d felt like she was being backed into a corner. Like she was being forced to pretend to be a fucking housebroken lapdog. But this thing with Root was different from every other time someone had gotten closer than Shaw wanted.

Shaw didn’t want to watch dumb movies with someone unless she got to interrupt them by raking her fingertips up the inseam of their pants. Root definitely wouldn’t mind that. Shaw didn’t want to go for runs in the park with someone unless it was because they were chasing down a perp. Root would like that— Shaw knew the woman would never stop wanting to do what the Machine asked. And the only way that Shaw would _ever_ cook dinner with someone would be if it involved being less than fully dressed, preferably with sex on the counter, bonus points for a little teasing and torture. And Root? Shaw knew that Root wouldn’t have it any other way. Root wouldn’t expect Shaw to talk about symbolism in some stupid fucking movie, or ask if Shaw planned on having kids, or invite her to a god damn bed and breakfast (unless it was for a mission, or to tie one another to the headboard like they’d done in the hotel weeks ago). And as for the trouble with Elaine— Shaw wasn’t the kind of person who was going to sacrifice her own comfort on someone else’s behalf unless it was for a damn good reason. But with Root, there was _always_ a good reason: if Sameen could keep Root safe, she would never need anything else.

The two of them together was a recipe for disaster. Two trigger-happy ex-assassins in a relationship sounded stupid and miserable. Like a tiger and lion living together in a prison cell. And yet, Shaw felt comfortable with Root. Never bored. Like she was allowed to be hard to reach and quiet if that’s what she needed. And that was enough that Shaw didn’t want to run off and disappear. She didn’t want to give Root up. Instead, because Root _did_ keep coming back for more even when Sameen hurt her, Sameen _wanted_ to negotiate the minefield of emotions. Even if it wasn’t easy. Being _allowed_ to disappoint Root made her never want to do it again.

But she would. She knew it, and she had tried to tell Root that, but she still wasn’t sure that the taller woman had actually absorbed that fact.

Shaw called Fusco, told him to pick up some food for them all, then she hung up and sent Root a message. She didn’t think she wanted to talk to her on the phone, mostly because she didn’t want John walking in while she stumbled through asking Root to come and eat with them. Especially not when Shaw was beginning to feel like she knew what she had to do.

——————————

“ _Meet us at John’s. Reese is fine. Fusco’s bringing lunch._ ”

Shaw’s text message wasn’t any less terse than usual. The shorter woman was always brief and to the point, which wasn’t a surprise, and Root knew better than to read into it.

But the thought of venturing above ground was a little daunting, and because Sameen wasn’t verbose in her text messages Root wouldn’t know until she saw the other woman what sort of mindset she was in. Especially not if the Machine had started speaking to Root. Was Shaw going to tell her that they’d be better off sticking to being coworkers? Would Sameen even stick around for the sake of their work if things began to get back to the way they were before? If they didn’t have a mission, would Shaw have any interest in spending time together aside from the occasional late night tryst? Root knew that last thought wasn’t possible— Shaw had made it very clear that she cared a lot more than Root should have expected her to.

Root headed up the steps of the subway station slowly, feeling both restless and tired.

She emerged onto the street and the noises of New York closed in on her. People walked past brusquely, like she didn’t even exist, and Root felt overwhelmed. Then, as quickly as the city’s bustle hit her, the Machine started to speak.

It took Root’s breath away.

All at once, the Machine was telling Root about the engine in a sports car that roared around the corner. Reading all of the step’s to the dumpling recipe used by the restaurant that she passed. Giving the genus and species of flowers used in a coffee shop’s window displays. The price of the shoes worn by the owner of a french bulldog. Even that french bulldog’s name, Didi— which She said meant little brother.

The Machine chattered away endlessly, and it made all of the other sights and sounds less staggering. As long as She kept speaking, Root felt confident. Safe.

And She wasn’t stopping.

It was as if She was making up for lost time. Root understood that the Machine was trying to show that She meant what She had been explaining before Shaw’s text arrived. It wasn’t that She hadn’t _wanted_ to speak to Root, it was that She thought Root needed time. Time to mourn. Time to reflect on the fact that they worked better as a team than on their own. And time to understand that all of that meant Root needed to _listen_ , because they were only as effective as their ability to communicate.

Root suspected that the Machine was also gently trying to give her relationship advice. To anyone else it would have been laughable for an ASI to help with romance. But Root knew that no one knew her better than the Machine. The Machine probably knew _everyone_ better than anyone else.

And She wasn’t wrong. Root and the others were most effective if they cooperated. She and _Shaw_ worked best when they were together, being honest with one another about what they wanted and needed.

So if the Machine was trying to direct her, Root knew she had to listen. In this and in everything else.

——————————

John returned from showering looking more like his old self now that he’d shaved, but he still wasn't wearing his usual black suit and white shirt, and he still looked exhausted and sad.

Fusco arrived with bags of takeout in hand, Bear pulling at his leash enthusiastically.

“Where the hell’ve you been? Your dog was at the precinct when I got back from looking for you, and nobody could tell me how he got there,” Fusco said as he put the food down. He turned to John when he didn’t get a response.

“You look like crap,” Fusco complained when he got a good look at Reese. He narrowed his eyes. “What are you? Drunk?”

Shaw gave him a warning look and Fusco sheepishly frowned.

“He’s sobering up,” Shaw told Lionel harshly. She felt protective of John, which was ridiculous given that she’d said a lot worse to him earlier. It occurred to her that this must be what it was like to have a sibling: _the only one who gets to tease my brother is me_.

Shaw was just beginning to wonder if something had happened to Root when the brunette showed up, looking frail and anxious. It hit Shaw like a ton of bricks that Root had been hiding in the subway station for over a week. She’d been scared to go up above ground, especially without the Machine in her ear. And Shaw had just sent a text message asking her to go out on her own and come and meet them. Shaw kicked herself for not bringing the boys to the station, or at least offering to go back and _get_ Root.

But Root hadn’t asked Shaw to do either of those things. Hadn’t mentioned it. And clearly hadn’t refused to come meet them. Probably, Shaw knew, because she didn’t want to annoy Sameen. Guilt settled in Shaw’s stomach. Was Root really afraid to ask her for support if she needed it?

 _How am I supposed to let her help_ me _if I make her feel like she can’t ask for the same?_

Shaw quietly watched Root. The taller woman was fidgeting, watching John take the food out of the bags. It made Sameen wish she knew how to make Root feel at ease.

Fusco helped John arrange the food and plates on the table by the windows. This place was nothing like the apartment that Shaw had once occupied. She’d known that John had good taste, but she hadn’t realized that he cared about having a nice place. To her, an apartment had always been a spot to sleep that doubled as an oversized gun locker.

When they went to sit down around the table, Shaw waited for Root to pick a spot and then slid into the chair beside her. Fusco and Reese sat down opposite them, and Shaw felt the aching emptiness of the chairs at either end of the table.

First Carter, now Finch.

 _Shit. We can’t lose anyone else_.

She looked up and made eye contact with Reese. She could tell he was thinking the same thing, slouching forward and pressing his lips together hard. They all sat in silence for a long moment, unmoving, and then Fusco cleared his throat.

“I got a letter in the mail this morning,” he said. Everyone looked at him, not sure what to make of this. He started to load his paper plate with food. “Turns out my kid got a scholarship. A big one. From an anonymous donor.”

Fusco looked like he couldn’t believe this bullshit, and handed the container of food to John, then motioned for Root to open the next one. Shaw’s eyes narrowed at him.

“I called up the law firm on the paperwork, ‘cause I thought it was a scam. Y’know, too good to be true. I mean, hell, my kid’s not the one who gets a _scholarship_. He’s not a bad student, don’t get me wrong, but Bs and Cs don’t get you this kinda cash. And hadn’t I’d just been sayin’ that I didn’t know how I’m supposed to make ends meet? Then a month later _two hundred thousand dollars worth of scholarship money_ just shows up in the mail?” Everyone had started to serve themselves now that he was talking and encouraging them to pass things. Shaw took an enormous bite of food, watched Root take a small forkful, and was distracted by the relief she felt that Root was actually eating something without being cajoled. “Well the guy— he said he could give me the contact information of the _benefactor’s executor_.”

“So I told him ‘yeah, you do that. I wanna meet whoever this nut job is,’” Fusco continued. He looked up at Shaw, sitting diagonally from him. “You know whose number it was.”

It wasn’t a question. Shaw paused chewing the huge amount of food in her mouth and raised her eyebrows as she realized what he was about to say.

“Yours,” Fusco told her. She hadn’t known that Finch was giving Fusco money for his kid’s school. She wasn’t _surprised_ given how much Finch had left to other things, but she hadn’t known. Fusco smiled, looking sad. “Wish I’d known he was gonna do it. Woulda said he shouldn’t.”

Fusco raised his eyebrows and smirked.

“He probably woulda done it anyway,” he said, his voice lower now. Shaw realized suddenly that Lionel was on the verge of tears. “But at least I coulda _thanked_ him.”

They ate in silence. Root was doing more than pushing food around her plate, which made Shaw feel a lot more confident in the decision she had made while Reese was in the shower.

They finished and Fusco got up, clearing his plate and saying he needed to get back to work.

The other three were still sitting quietly at the table when there was a quiet buzzing noise. Beside Shaw, Root had suddenly perked up.

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his vibrating cellphone. He answered it and lifted it to his ear, then looked at Shaw meaningfully.

Shaw turned and looked at Root in turn, who was hesitantly elated, clearly listening to something through her implant. It seemed like the Machine knew they both needed to hear from Her, and that Shaw would just as soon get the information secondhand.

When Reese hung up the phone and Root’s eyes had focused on Shaw instead of staring into space, none of them needed to speak to understand what had happened. John pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket and grabbed the receipt from the food, writing something down.

“They never stop coming,” Shaw said, relieved. It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

They all stood, clearing the rest of the food off of the table.

“We’ll go back to the subway and do some research,” Shaw told John, motioning at Root. Then, kindly but in a way that let him know it wasn’t a suggestion, “Once you’re good, you should go to work.”

He nodded and looked over at Root, who was throwing out the disposable dishes, then back to Shaw with a question on his face. She swallowed hard.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Shaw told him quietly, talking about herself, Root, John, the number, and everything else. He didn’t look like he believed her. “When you’re off work let me know. We’ll get a drink.”

She’d be happy to wallow with him for a while, even if a drink wasn’t going to be the most helpful thing for either of them.

“We’ll go see Zoe tomorrow,” she added, softer than before.

His smile was grateful and sad. She opened the door, gesturing for Root to go ahead of her.

Out on the street, Root walked slightly ahead of Shaw, and she had to hurry to catch up, taking unnaturally long strides.

Sameen put a hand on the small of Root’s back to get her to realize Shaw was trying to keep up. The taller woman immediately slowed, realizing she was out-pacing Shaw’s shorter legs. Sameen’s hand dropped to her side again when Root glanced down at Shaw and tried to give her a flirty smile that Shaw saw straight through. The brunette was still anxious.

“He’s lucky to have you,” Root said. The words were small, and Shaw felt bad for not giving her as much attention as she deserved.

“We’re all lucky we have each other,” Shaw said, as if it should have been obvious. Root looked over at her with the old borderline-mocking smile, and Sameen was acutely aware of how out of character her comment had been. At least it had made Root give her that goofy little doe-eyed expression. Shaw rolled her eyes at Root, trying to pretend she was annoyed, but couldn’t keep from smiling up at her.

They walked a ways, and Sameen knew that there was never going to be a good time to try to tell Root what she’d spent the last hour and a half mulling over. She grimaced and took a deep breath to steady herself.

“I’ve been thinking…” she started. Root glanced down at her curiously. “Y’know… now that Samaritan’s gone, I don’t have stay underground.”

She stopped speaking for a beat as they walked, turning towards Root to get out of the way of a businessman who bundled past them. Shaw looked up at Root’s face and saw fear and sadness rumbling just beneath the surface of Root’s expression. The taller woman quickly looked away from Shaw’s face, trying to hide her worry.

“I was thinking of getting a place like John’s. Seems like a step up from the subway,” Shaw continued, a note of sarcasm in her voice. She was struggling to be direct about what she wanted. “Besides, it’d be nice to have some privacy.”

She gave Root a sidelong glance and saw that Root was trying to keep her expression neutral. Shaw knew she was going to have to be a little less obtuse.

They hurried through a crosswalk before the light changed.

“As much as I love the thrill of wondering if Reese is going to walk in on us…” Shaw said, pulling her veil of sarcasm up higher as she hinted at what she intended. She could tell that Root had gotten where she was going because Root’s pace had slowed and she was walking taller.

“Sameen, are you asking me to _move in_ with you?” Root teased, looking down at Shaw like she was just the cutest thing. Shaw couldn’t help but scowl.

“I mean, have you _ever_ had your own place? Where do you keep your stuff?” Shaw asked, irritated. “Besides, if the Machine is going to want you to be on the move again, always running off to do whatever the hell She asks, maybe it’d be nice to have somewhere… homey to come back to.”

Halfway through speaking, her words had lost their defensive edge. She’d looked up at Root and seen that the taller woman’s eyes had the now-familiar watery look that said she was fighting off tears. Shaw looked away, more embarrassed than annoyed now, and kept walking, looking at her feet.

“You don’t— it was just a thought,” Shaw stuttered. “It’s probably easier to keep living in the subway for now anyway. Better for keeping up with numbers. But eventually— Living at headquarters is just… You know what they say about not taking your work home with you or whatever.”

Fingers wrapped around Shaw’s elbow gently, and Sameen realized that with her eyes on her feet, she had been veering slightly away from Root without meaning to. She glanced up at Root and started to look away again before she processed the woman’s face and her eyes snapped back up. Root’s mouth had twitched into a smile that turned the teary-eyed expression into something else. Shaw recognized that the other woman was relieved. Happy.

Hesitantly, Shaw smiled back, and let Root walk so close that their sides were brushing.

“There’s no rush,” Shaw said, unable to stop herself from trying to put some distance between them. Root slid her hand down Shaw’s arm to her unbroken hand and gave it a brief squeeze before letting go.

They reached the end of another block. This time, they didn’t make it in time to cross and had to wait for the lights to cycle through.

Root took a deep breath.

“You know you don’t have to do or say anything you don’t want to, right? Nothing has to change,” Root said. Shaw nodded, and stole a glance at Root. The taller woman’s eyes quickly jumped away to the buildings across the intersection.

Root gave an odd, nervous smile, and finally looked back at Shaw.

She wanted Sameen to know that she could have as much space as she needed.

“I’m probably going to keep making you… uncomfortable,” Root said, closing her eyes and shaking her head as she said that last word. It made her heart ache, thinking that she was hurting the woman she loved by pushing her too hard.

“Okay,” Shaw said with a shrug and a little ‘so what’ smile. “I’m gonna keep disappointing you. It’ll even out.”

Despite how serious the conversation’s topic was, Shaw had managed to keep those words playful.

Root felt those same three words that had started them spiraling into an argument earlier. They were rising in her throat, filling her chest with warmth. _I love you_. She looked away from Shaw, trying to make the feeling subside, but her eyes were drawn back to Sameen magnetically. The shorter woman was looking back at her, searching her face.

Root didn’t know what she’d done to deserve Shaw. She’d never considered herself lucky until their paths crossed and she realized she’d met someone that she clicked with in a way she’d never felt with anyone else. She was sure that her face clearly showed how much affection she felt for Sameen, and tried to make it less obvious. She didn’t want to make Shaw feel pressured. But looking into those dark eyes, Root’s heart was racing so fast that she was reminded of the torture that Control had used on her. _I love you_.

Root could tell that Shaw was trying to look annoyed, but ended up smirking instead. Root was confused.

“I know, Root,” Shaw said with a teasing roll of her eyes. When Root’s brow furrowed deeper, not sure what Sameen meant, Shaw peered over her shoulder as if she was checking to see if they were being watched, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

Root followed the other woman’s gaze, wondering what she was looking for, and was caught off guard when Sameen turned towards her, put a gentle hand on either side of Root’s waist, and kissed her. Just as quickly, she stepped back out of Root’s space, looking around casually before glancing at Root discretely to see how she’d reacted.

Shaw watched Root blink down at her in surprise, a smile spreading on her face. It was the most genuine, dumbstruck grin Sameen had seen in a while. Those brown eyes completely unguarded. Her whole face lit up.

No, Shaw wasn’t going to tell Root that she loved her. Root didn’t expect her to. But she wanted to reassure Root that she cared, and she wanted to keep Root close. Physically and emotionally. She wanted to know that at the end of the day, she’d get to see this exasperating, beautiful, incredible woman who never came close to boring her. Wanted to know that no matter what happened, they had each other.

 _Maybe that_ is _love_. She didn’t know. But her chest and stomach were tight, like they’d gotten too big for her body and wanted to burst out.

Pedestrians started bumping into them and Shaw glanced up, seeing that it was their turn to walk. She gave Root a small smile and nudged her to start moving.

As they crossed the street, both Root and Shaw remembered all of the times that they’d had to leave one another behind. All of the times that they’d been unsure if they were ever going to see each other again. But they always had. It had always felt inevitable. They were both too hard-headed and stubborn to let anything derail them. It didn’t matter where they had to go, or who or _what_ they had to fight, they would always remain determined to find their way back.

There was something freeing about that.

They walked shoulder to shoulder toward Chinatown, content to be heading home to the subway station.


End file.
